


Immune

by TimeLordOfPie



Series: Reluctance in Motion [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Gen, Not A Fix-It, Original Character(s), Prequel, Religious Conflict, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Underage Drug Use, Violence, basically a fic of a background character, chapters are a bit long, kind of short, logan is a bad influence, main character has skewed perception of what's actually happening, oc in xmen, sequel will be a crossover, small number of chapters, sort of a prequel, teenagers aren't the brightest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeLordOfPie/pseuds/TimeLordOfPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is normal, until it's not. Mutants are all over the news, and in her parent's arguments, as much as she tries to form her own opinions separate from them she can't help but let their teachings color her world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 01

Bad ideas come in all forms and bring all sorts of bad luck. My bad luck happened to come on the wing of a monumentally bad idea, a backflip. And it wasn’t even my backflip. Here’s some advice, when a twelve-year-old tells you to hold her earrings because she’s about to try something, don’t take the earrings. Being the wonderful older sister I am the diamond studs were in hand as I watched with vague amusement while a lanky redhead in a brilliant purple bikini marched across the dock. The lake water was slightly green tinged, but that was to be expected from anything in nature.  
There were fish in there as well, which kept my mother parked in a lawn chair well away from the water, feigning reading a prayer book while her dark eyes were actually fixed firmly on her youngest who was flouncing ever closer to the water. She cleared her throat loudly, pushing her large frame sunglasses up and onto the top of her head, sitting up slightly.  
“Sandra, what do you think you’re doing?”  
The redhead stopped dead, glancing back at Mom before shrugging and inching ever closer to the water, beaming, freckles stretching across her face and red hair bouncing off her shoulders as she shrugged,  
“Nothing.”  
Mom abandoned the book, closing it without bothering for a bookmark, scowling as she sat forwards completely to take her feet off the ice chest and plant them firmly on the ground.   
“Sandra Louise you get away from that water, it’s filthy!”  
The slow movement didn’t stop as she groaned loudly, throwing her head back.   
“It’s not that bad! Dad lets us swim here all the time!”  
Mom snapped at her, standing up and straightening her t-shirt in a jerky motion.  
“Your father isn’t here today, is he? So get back here, I was bargained with, fishing and lunch only.”  
Logically I knew that mom wasn’t as strong a swimmer as dad was, wasn’t a strong swimmer at all, actually. I vaguely remember a story of a mishap involving a goose and a catfish that kept her out of water deeper than ankle height from the time she was four years old to this day. Her fear here was someone because she would be no help at all, and I could tell it irritated her. The older sibling in me forced me to sigh,   
“What can a bit of paddling around in the shallows hurt?”  
Mom snapped her fingers at me, not looking my way,  
“Hush, Nina, you know better than to backtalk.”  
When Sandra stepped over the last bit of old worn wood and onto the smooth new planks that marked the last stretch of the dock my mother hissed,  
“Young lady you take one more step and you’ll be grounded for the next month! I don’t want to drive back to town with you dripping all over my seats!”  
Sandra paused at this, seeing the logic in not having to ride all the way back home cold and wet. There was a second of hesitation. I like to think that somewhere, far enough away that an alternate reality exists, Sandra made a different choice. Here she spotted the towel she’d been lying on earlier, Cheshire grin spreading. Her legs tensed, long hours in junior cheerleading paying off when she launched herself backward, arching beautifully. I might have risked mom's ire and clapped, shouting out an 8 or a 7, but she miscalculated. Robert Gamble, who lived near here, used this place as his regular fishing hole, taking the upkeep on himself. This meant repairing or adding onto the dock. In the three weeks since we’d last been here with our father around an extra eighth of a foot was added onto the end. Not enough to make much of a difference, or even be noticed at first glance, but enough to throw off a landing.   
Her head slammed against the dock as she went in, possibly her shoulder as well. The thud was inordinately loud, sickening. I could see my mother's mouth hanging open in what must have been a horrified shriek but the world had seemingly stopped producing sound. Nothing was moving as quickly as it should be. The water bottle mom knocked off the ice chest was falling, falling, falling, and my steps were as if through syrup. I let the diamond earrings roll out of my fingers as I moved, some small part of me thinking she’d be furious if I lost them but the rest just focusing on how she wasn’t surfacing.   
Time resumed its normal pace as I broke the surface of the water, ignoring the fact that I was in jean shorts and a tank top, unsure if my smartphone was still in my back pocket or not and unable to care. Sandra was just a dark blur near the sandy bottom of the lake, a few strokes bringing me close enough to see a cloud of red curling from her upper body and reaching upwards towards the surface. The sheer amount of the color would have bothered me but my mother’s words about the quality of the water were stronger, images of infections and bacteria riddled wounds turning black and filling my mind. As I surged closer to her I had the time to be absently thankful we were at the lake, rather than the river. Any sort of current would have ended this swiftly, would have ended us.   
Debris littered the bottom, I would have been indignant if I weren’t scared out of my mind, already craving oxygen, and trying to avoid the scraps of bent, rusted metal as I grabbed onto my sister's shoulders. I twisted to avoid what looked like an old motor, my feet digging into a clear space on the bottom as I launched the both of us up as far as possible. The metal wheel spun with our movement, catching onto my leg and leaving a trail of white-hot fire. I let out a large bubble of air on instinct before snapping my mouth closed again, ignoring the foul taste of the lake water and pushing through the pain. My leg throbbed and the fire was spreading to the rest of my body as I moved, muscles burning and lungs aching. Sandra was dead weight, head lolling, and blood leaking slowly out in dusky red clouds.   
I could see the sun hitting the surface of the water, my eyes stinging from both the brilliance as well as the water itself. I felt like I was choking, the dead feeling in my throat telling me that air was a necessity and that I should get on that, like now. I ignored it, knowing I was close to the end of this, I had to be. This lake wasn’t that deep, there were places my father could stand with his head out of the water, and we were still close to the dock, in more shallow territory. I angled closer to the shore and upwards, left leg slightly numb now, not responding as it should be.   
For a brief second I thought we weren't going to make it. Then I was breaking the surface and sucking in air, arms feeling like lead as I hauled Sandra up so that her head was above water. Mom was in the shallows, wading towards us. We met in the middle, Mom scooping her up and taking her to shore, laying her out and trying to get her breathing again as I stumbled out of the lake. My entire body ached and I was seeing spots, still dragging in air like it was going out of style. I stumbled towards our things, shoving everything into bags and throwing them into the bed of the truck, knowing we’d be leaving for the hospital as soon as Mom either got somewhere in her first aide efforts or decided to make a run for the nearest emergency room. Even if she started laughing it off she wasn’t getting out of a trip to the ER. A glint of something in the grass caught my eye, my clouded brain belatedly forcing me to bend down and pick up the earrings, slipping them into my front pocket.   
My mind was lagging behind everything, and it was seeing Mom picking up Sandra and putting her in the back of the truck that got me really moving, limping as fast as I could towards them, getting in the back of the vehicle and holding Sandra to keep her head and neck still, violently afraid that she’d hurt her spine when she’d hit the dock. My mother drove silently, it was surreal. The lack of verbalized road rage, no Johhny Cash in the background, just the heater blowing to try and get Sandra warm. Mom broke traffic laws, emergency flashers blaring. We were in the boondocks, near the levee where there wasn’t a town for miles, just fishing holes and hunting cabins. There were also no cops, which I was relieved about, I doubted my mother would stop for those flashing lights right about now. We didn’t need to add ‘police chase’ with the things about today that were fucked up.   
It seemed like it took both forever and also no time at all. The memory of the wait disappeared and melding together into one long terrified second as we screeched to a halt at the hospital's emergency entrance. Mom didn’t turn the truck off, just throwing it in park and jumping out, opening the door to where Sandra lay and directing hospital staff like a general on the battlefield, curly brown hair flying in a mass of frizz. She’d lost her sunglasses somewhere in the confusion, and her flip flops made squelching sounds as she walked, still soaked. After they had wheeled my sister away and shown us some beige and impersonal room to wait and do paperwork I took stock of myself. There was slime from the water in places I didn’t want to even think about, my hair was still wet and tangled in on itself, probably looking slightly worse off than Moms. She wasn’t looking at me, just staring down at the paperwork blankly, not crying or even attempting to hold back tears, just...slightly empty seeming.   
Honestly it scared me more than waterworks would have. My mother cried at the drop of a hat. Cute picture of a puppy? Sobs. End of Old Yeller? Flood. Season finale of anything at all? Oh look, a river. But this, the lack of any sort of reaction anymore...it was freaky. I was trying to think of something to say to her to take both of our minds somewhere slightly less dark when a nurse came in, a perky woman reassuring us that everything possible was being done, handing me a white towel as she smiled down at my mother. Then she turned her eyes to me, looking me over.  
“Were you in the water as well?”  
I nodding, clearing my throat,  
“Yeah, uh, yes. Yes I was.”  
“And are you feeling okay? Well and Healthy?”  
I nodded again and she pursed her lips, tilting her head.  
“Are you sure you didn’t cut yourself? There’s a bit of blood on the hem there…”  
She motioned to the bottom front of my shorts and I was reminded of the long glaring cut I remembered being carved out of my leg as I made a bid for freedom.   
“Oh, that’s from-” I had turned my leg, trying to showcase the injury that I’d stopped feeling in the shock of it all as we drove, only to find nothing there. I floundered for a second, unable to think. The nurse got the wrong impression, looking sorry she’d spoken.  
“Right, your sister’s head...Don’t worry, we have the very best looking after her!”  
She shuffled off, leaving us in a room filled with strangers with a clipboard of blank paperwork and a new mystery. I leaned back in my seat, trying to breath. I didn’t worry about trying to play it cool, I was in a hospital waiting room, I was allowed to look freaked. I distinctly remembered the pain of that. I saw the blood, it couldn’t have been Sandra’s. That torment as I strained for the surface wasn’t imagined, there had been an injury there, and not a minor one either. I ran my hand absently down the surface, as if scratching an itch. Smooth skin, a bit pale, but unblemished unless you count the odd freckle. The wait was all the more agonising with my new mystery. I must be losing my mind…  
A door slammed, a man in a white coat swooping in hours after our arrival, calling out,  
“Hooper!”  
Mom surged from her seat, face still blank as she strode across the room, motioning with a hand for me to stay, her purse lying in her place on the chair. I sat back down slowly, folding my hands in my lap and ducking my head. If I’d been faster, or closer, reacted sooner...she may not even be here. If I hadn’t encouraged her, if I hadn’t taken those damn earrings...The door slammed open again as mom swept back in, grabbing her bag and heading for the door. I scrambled to follow, wanting to ask but afraid. Of the answer, of mom’s reaction, of breaking the silence, just afraid in general.   
We were almost home when she spoke, white knuckled grip on the steering wheel not easing.   
“She hasn’t woken up. I’m going to drop you off at home. You will change clothes, shower, do your homework, and wait for your father to turn his phone on. You will call every thirty minutes, and when you finally reach him you will tell him what’s going on, and what hospital. I’ll message you the room number.”  
I didn’t want to admit that my phone may be at the bottom of the lake, trying desperately to remember if I’d shoved it into one of the bags during the shuffle. Mom went inside to change her own clothes and I climbed into the bed of the truck, grabbing the bags from where they’d been thrown next to a tool box and searching quickly through both. I found my phone in Sandra’s bag, relief seeping through me even as I took in the damage. Putting it in the back meant it was slung around every time we turned or hit the breaks, leaving a thin crack running from the middle right side down to just beside the home button. Well, it wasn’t like iPhones were known for durability. I clutched it to my chest for a second before shoving everything back into the bags and maneuvering out of the truck, a dull ache in my left leg.  
A pain shot through that leg as I landed and I stopped dead, jerking to look down. Still no injury but there was no doubt about it, it hurt still. In the light of day, outside of the buzzing fluorescents of the hospital it was easy to see the color difference. Not a scar per say, but as if I’d put sunscreen in a long line down my leg every time I went out, leaving it paler than the rest of me. My heart was in my throat and I jumped when the screen door banged open, my mother leaning out to scowl and yell at me,  
“Don’t stand around, get in here!”  
As I walked towards the door she passed me, wearing more ‘acceptable’ clothes, her hair pulled up into a tight, yet still slightly frizzy, bun.   
“I’m going back to the hospital, you remember what I told you to do?”  
I nodded and she patted me lightly on the shoulder before getting in her forest green Dodge and racing out of sight. I stared after her for a few seconds before getting myself together and going inside, closing the front door behind me and just leaning against it. I’d managed not to cry yet, through all of this. The moment I was alone I couldn’t help it, letting out the nasty, heavy sobs that always left me with a headache and stuffy nose. But the situation merited a good cry. My sister was in the hospital, hurt, my mother was turning into a robot, and I was losing my mind.   
When I finally got my shit more or less together I called my dad, getting no answer of course. He was still at work, his phone would be off until he either went on break and wanted to play his turn on Words With Friends or got he done for the day. When he didn’t pick up I went to my room, determinedly not looking at the closed door to my sister’s room, grabbing my phone charger and a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom. I plugged my phone into the outlet over the sink, setting the device on top of the stack of fuzzy towels that resided on the back of the toilet, within easy reach should Mom call before I got out.  
I sat under the water for a while, steam clearing out my stuffy head as it filled the bathroom. I’d thought the mere feeling of it pounding on my back would bring back that helplessness, Sandra floating just out of reach, the strain in my lungs and arms, that ache in my leg that spread everywhere within seconds. I was wrong, it was just water, just a shower. The warmth undid some of the tension in my shoulders and helped me to calm down. But there was a creeping dread in the back of my mind that told me this wasn't the end. I might be able to shower now without being forced to relive the struggle of a few hours earlier but it was a stay of execution at best. That blind panic wasn’t done with me yet, I could feel it.   
I nearly gave in to said panic when I looked down to adjust the water, eyes alighting on my left leg, something not quite adding up. Then I realized, that streak of pale I plainly remembered running down the line of agony from before, now even it was gone. I could only lean against the wall of the shower and try to breathe, the steam suddenly making me choke and feel claustrophobic rather than calm and safe. Something was wrong here, I was losing my mind. Seeing things, that’s what I told myself. The stress from it all was getting to me. I got out of the shower and toweled off, pulling on light colored blue jeans and a white t shirt before wrapping my now wavy hair into a towel.   
Relocating my phone and charger to the living room I settled onto the couch, ignoring the homework my Mom had told me to do, knowing I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Instead I tried to call Dad again, once again receiving no answer. After a few restless seconds I left my phone on the arm of the couch and paced across the room, the grandfather clock in the hall ticking away the time. After a while my phone buzzed and I leapt for it, opening the message from Mom only to see a room number listed, nothing else.   
As always in small communities in the South news traveled fast. I suspected the real reason my mother left me at home was actually to field the calls we would get to the landline. I often had to interrupt my pacing laps around the living room to sprint into the kitchen and yank the off white phone from it’s cradle, desperately hoping against reason that it was Mom with good news. Of course it never was, she would have called my cell phone, after all. Instead it was ‘friends’, community leaders, and church groups, everyone offering reassurances that we were in their prayers and that they’d be by later for food. It was an odd tradition, bringing food when someone was sick or had died. I ended up braiding my hair back and changing into a nicer shirt because people were coming to the door with food already. I had my suspicions that some of these people kept a spare casserole lying around for just this sort of occasion, expecting to earn ‘Jesus Points ™’ or something if they were the first one here.  
Barely hours after she’d been admitted to the hospital and there were four full blown cheese lasagnas sitting in our fridge, chocolate cakes sitting on the counter, and at least one tupperware container of cookies. They were all rather tempting but I knew better than to help myself to any of it before someone got home. I took a careful, detailed list of who brought what, knowing that Mom would want to send out thank you cards once she got her sanity back in more or less working order. It’s what she’d done when Aunt Linda disappeared, and when Grandma Becket died. But even doing all of that only kept me busy for so long. I was still left to pace away, calling every thirty minutes for my father, which quickly turned to twenty, and then ten. It was in between these ten minute periods that he ended up calling me,   
“Nina, what the hell-”  
“Sandra’s in the hospital in Bryton. Room SW-715.”  
There was a beat of nothing before I heard him spring into action, his car starting and his tires screeching.  
“What happened? Where are you? Where’s your mother?”  
“I’m fine, I’m at home, Mom is at the hospital with Sandra. We were out by the lake, near the old Barcada hunting cabin. Mom was getting onto Sandra, not wanting her to go swimming. Sandra handed me her earrings...then she backed up to the edge of the dock, arguing with mom. But the dock was longer than last time and she didn’t notice. She tried to do a flip off the end and hit her head. I got her out of the water, and mom got her breathing but she still hasn’t woken up. If I hadn’t taken those earring she wouldn’t have-”  
I was crying again by the end of it and he was hushing me softly, even as I heard his horn blare,  
“Hey, hey now, none of this is your fault, okay? I’m going to the hospital to see what’s up, you just hang tight for a little bit longer, okay?”  
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, getting out a strangled ‘okay’ before he hung up. I sat down in front of the couch, leaning my back against it, all of my restless energy suddenly gone. My little sister was my best friend. I was too much of an awkward nerd to get anywhere in social circles of a small town in the Bible belt. Everything was mainly about hunting, football, or Jesus. No one cared about whatever book or show I’d gotten obsessed with, though I was too much of a socially anxious wimp to even try to get interest from anyone. Well, no one but Sandra and Elise, Sandra being bound by blood and Elise speaking to me first. Elise had already called, one of the first few, reassuring me that it wasn’t my fault before I heard her father in the background yelling about a test score before the call had been ended. It warmed my very soul that she’d risked a longer period being grounded to retrieve her cell phone from the box on top of the fridge to call and try to cheer me up, though it did add just a little bit to my current guilt level.  
My dad called after three hours, sounding tired and telling me to heat up something to eat and get to bed. That was all. No information, no doctors expectations, nothing. It scared me. I didn’t bother with food, knocking back cold medicine and refusing to feel guilty about it as sluggish sleep came over me. I jerked awake sucking in air, water fading from my vision, the nightmare created image of Sandra screaming soundlessly and slipping away from me still burned into my retinas. I grabbed my alarm clock, tilting it up and then groaning. Four hours. I’d been out for barely four hours. I lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to get up the energy to grab a book, do some math homework, something, anything.   
I stared at a half finished history essay until the sun hit the window over my desk, reaching for my phone and dialing my mother. The call was immediately rejected. I stared at it for several seconds, not comprehending what had happened. Before I could muster up a reaction the device buzzed in my hand, a text message.   
‘Catch the bus, go to school.’  
I wanted to rage, to walk to that fucking hospital and sit beside Sandra until she woke up, maybe yelling at my mother first because what the fuck was she thinking? Go to school? As if I would get anything done? As if everyone and their girlfriend wouldn’t asking me about it, talking to me for the first time in their lives that didn’t involve classwork, homework, and ‘what did I miss when I dozed off?’. But skipping would be worse. She’d be furious. With Sandra in the hospital playing sick wasn’t an option. What could be wrong with me that could possibly compare to that? No, it was my job now to suck it up and do what needed to be done. In this case that would be facing the fiends.   
I showered, taking the time to straighten my hair dry and then braid it back. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do with all this extra time. I was already dressed after all. Jeans, dark t shirt, black hoodie jacket, red converse, a few hair bands around my wrist just in case and I was golden. My backpack was sitting by the door to my room, a plain black thing with stray sharpie doodles that had held out faithfully since the sixth grade. I was left staring at it for several seconds before I could get my shit together enough to actually pick it up.  
Passing the hall mirror I almost had a heart attack. I’d thought I saw Sandra. But that was stupid, she wasn’t here. And if she was coming home someone would have told me. No, it was just me. We didn’t even look that much alike. Sure, we were sibling, but we were three years apart and at different stages of development. She was just now hitting puberty full on and I was blissfully at the tail end of it. My last growth spurt had come and gone, leaving me four inches taller than her, now standing at five foot even. I took another long look at the reflection but the face was all wrong, I didn’t want to see me. I wanted Sandra here and I wanted her to be safe. I had thinner features, and now there were dark circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep and probably also the misuse of cold medicine.  
The passing hope that I would genuinely miss the bus and have no parent at home to give me a ride was crushed when the damn thing actually waited on me. The one day I would have happily waved as it trundled past it screeched to a halt and stayed there, door hanging open. It was too early in the morning for the inquisition, most of the people on this bus route ate breakfast at school, so they were half asleep without that to kickstart them. The more rural areas had special programs, farmers kids ate free and this place had a hell of a lot of farmland. I could feel at least one set of eyes on me, so I pulled out brilliant orange earbuds and put them into place, setting my music at random and letting it play.   
Almost a half second later I was unlocking my phone and hitting skip. No, no, no, I can live with this one...nevermind, no, no, no, ah here it is. I finally stopped on a song, making a mental note that I knew I’d never act on to go through the music and delete some of it. Not like I’d be losing money, most of it was ripped from youtube anyway. We hit a pothole and I tensed my legs against the seat, staying in place. Dirt roads and school buses, gotta love that combination. It took us eight minutes to get from my house to the next one on this bus’ route. Doris McCarthy and her little brother Aaron. I couldn’t help but smile as she helped him onto the bus and into his seat, kicking his little blue rainboots and grinning at the world. He was in Kindergarten this year, Doris in my English class. I saw her head move in my direction and quickly switched to staring out the window, knowing eye contact would mean I had to gauge in conversation, like pokemon battles and mall vendors.   
Four songs played before I got to school, the route leading us over a creaky bridge that got my heart rate up every damn time we went across it. When I got off the bus I saw from the corner of my eye the bus driver attempt to make eye contact. Nope, nuh uh, not gonna happen. I walked quicker, taking the steps two at a time and power walking the moment my feet touched cement. I kept my head down as I walked through the crowds, keeping up my internal mantra,  
They aren’t looking this way, they don’t give a shit, they aren’t looking.  
Finally, after what seemed like hours I leaned against the door and fell right into Elise’s waiting arms. She squeezed tightly, pulling me out of the doorway and into the corner of the band room sitting me down and taking a long look at me before reaching into her bag and pulling out a bottle of Doctor Pepper.  
“I’m not going to ask for details...yet. Frankly you look like shit, Nina.”  
I snorted, “Thanks, how kind of you.”  
She shrugged, “Well, it’s what I’m here for. Seriously though, drink that. Caffeine might make you look less dead.”   
She automatically winced at the phrasing, mouth opening to correct herself but I shook my head. It didn’t bother me, because Sandra was not dead, Sandra was going to be fine. When I failed to get the cap off the soda she sighed, taking it from me and getting it it open in one smooth motion.  
“What would you do if I wasn’t here to open that?”  
Get Sandra to open it. But I couldn’t exactly say that, awkward central, right there.  
I faux glared, setting the soda down beside my bag and digging out my binder and a pencil before standing up straight so I could attempt to look intimidating.  
“I’ll have you know that when you aren’t here it works just fine. Your very presence jinxes it!”  
Elise just rolled her eyes, grabbing her own binder and leading the way to the seats, dropping her binder off on a stand on the front row, mine on the second, diagonally behind her. We proceeded to the tiny instrument room insilence, bumping shoulders as we walked through the doorway and playfully elbowing one another. A piece of me eased at the familiar interaction only for another part to tense again at the thought that Sandra wasn’t having this with her friends right now. I pushed that away into a dark corner of my mind, unable to handle it at that moment.  
I stuck the reed in my mouth as I put all of the pieces of the instrument together, stopping at the sharpie marks of where it was usually in tune at room temperature, I could adjust it later. The class itself was a riot, a mash of sound, and yelling, with the occasional inappropriate joke floating over from the low brass section, at least one drama moment in the trumpet section over who should actually have first part. A wonderful mess that kept my mind off of everything screwy. Leaving the room fucked all of that up. For one thing it meant joining the rest of the school, most of whom didn’t know me as well as Elise and the other band nerds. Exhibit A was Connie. She was a nice enough girl, usually, but she lived and breathed information. You wanted it, she had it. You had it, she needed to know. And my story affected her directly.  
She swooped in beside me, resting an arm on my left shoulder and playing with my brown braided hair using the other hand, grinning down at me, freckles stretched across her skin and blond eyebrows waggling.  
“Soooo, you wanna tell me what’s going on in the world of Miss Hooper?”  
I shrugged her off, knowing that if she got the info she’d tell everyone who asked her. For a price, but people were just nosy enough to fork up five chocolate chip cookies or whatever the hell she was charging today.   
“Sorry, gotta get to Oral Comm.”  
She nodded as if this were reasonable, not pointing out we still had four minutes, were two feet from that class, and that we had it together.  
“Oh well, I’ll just have to eat lunch with you today! Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”  
She flounced off to her seat, bright teal green backpack thrown against the wall behind her seat with abandon and I winced at the damage that probably did to anything electronic. My own seat was thankfully across the room from her, and the fact that it was Monday meant we were getting new vocabulary words rather than speaking in front of or even to one another. Small blessings. The class dragged on and I ended up threading my headphones through the inside of my hoodie jacket, putting one earbud in and resting that side of my face in my chin as I doodled on the paper in front of me. It ended up being a lot of rather lopsided birds scattered across the margins of my vocabulary notes. When the bell rang I took my time packing up, letting Connie get well ahead of me on her way to the science hall.   
I nearly tripped twice on my way into Algebra 2 and it was through the grace of the divine that I made it to my seat without embarassing myself to the point of combustion. We had a pop quiz that day, which would have sunk my mood even if it had been anywhere decent to begin with, and some fuckwit knocked over my Doctor Pepper as they swaggered by to turn in their paper, not bothering to apologize. I vowed that if it was flat I would get revenge...somehow. I wasn’t sure how, but it would be done. The bell couldn’t ring quickly enough.   
English was slightly better, seeing as Elise was in it, even though she sat halfway across the room. Mrs.Fulbright had learned early on that she had to separate us otherwise nothing productive would happen. We still communicated, spelling out things in sign language since we only knew the alphabet for it, but we were damn good at that alphabet by this point. I bullshited my way through diagramming sentences, read a few dry poems about the nature of death, and was the first one out the door when the bell rang, though that could be because I sat directly next to it.  
History was next, and my teacher stepped onto his soapbox for a bit in order to talk about some ‘current events’, just like he usually did on Mondays. It took up the entire class period, and sparked debate across the room. We were surprisingly evenly divided on many issues, gay marriage being one, abortion being another, and mutants being the most vehement of arguments. We were in the Bible belt, I wasn’t expecting people to have the arguments of ‘love is love’, ‘women should have a choice, it’s their bodies’, and the most controversial ‘they’re still human, dickehad’. The last comment closed the forum for discussion, though Mr.Werner was pleased that we’d gotten heated enough he’d had to do so. I spent the rest of the class thinking about it, generally ignoring whatever he was saying about the Greeks. My thoughts drifted from the points they’d made to the arguments between my parents at the dinner table. Oh, it wasn’t so much a differing opinion on mutants, rather differing on how they thought they should be taken care of.   
It was mostly distaste that they felt. People running around as freaks of nature, accidents. Defying what god meant to happen and flaunting it blatantly as if it weren’t inherently wrong. Doing unnatural things like-...like walking away from an accident that harmed others with their own injuries disappearing. Raw fear swept through me, bile rising up in my throat and I had to take a few deep breathes. That wasn’t what happened. It was a trick of my mind. The sting was from dragging against the metal, the blood had been Sandra’s. With the strange tanline I’d seen what I ‘expected’ to see in my strung out, stressed state. Despite my reasoning I was uneasy for the rest of the day, spending lunch in the bathroom playing Bejeweled instead of even attempting to avoid Connie. The bus ride home was loud, with everyone thrilled to be escaping. No one was home when I got there, unlocking the door and locking it again behind me, dropping my bag onto the couch and flopping down beside it, kicking off my shoes as I dialed my mother.   
It rang twice before the call was declined. This time indignation rose up immediately and I contemplated calling right back, but gave the idea up quickly. It would only annoy her, then she’d be angry with me on top of whatever the hell was going on at the hospital. I debated trying to call Dad, but he would likely be with Mom and I’d be met with the same result, a declined call and angry Mom, a lecture about not getting the hint. While I was lying on the couch wondering what to do next my stomach let loose a whale call that would put Dory to shame. Spurred into action I finally mobilized myself, puttering into the kitchen, power sliding on my socks across the dark green linoleum and miscalculating, slamming into the counter beside the fridge. I hissed, stepping back and holding my side as I opened the fridge anyway, glad no one had seen that.  
The selection wasn’t looking good for me. Not even lunch meat for sandwiches, as much as I loathe those even they were sounding nice right now. We hadn’t eaten yet when it had happened, and I’d skipped breakfast that morning. This made about two days since I’d last eaten and my stomach was unhappy with the situation. The various casseroles, lasagnas, stews, breads, and cakes stared back at me, testing my resolve. I slammed the door shut on them, turning to the cabinets and throwing them open one by one. I’d rather not risk eating part of any of those without Mom’s okay, and since she wasn’t answering her phone to give it I was just going to have to make do.  
I was near to giving in to despair, it was a ten minute drive to the nearest place I could buy food of any sort, and that was ignoring the speed limit to the extreme. No license, no car. Walking wouldn’t be an option logically, nevermind the fact that Mom would probably kill me herself for leaving the house without permission, may as well just wait for starvation to take me. But I was being overdramatic. If anything I had ancient protein bars in my closet from band camp, or there were poptarts hidden somewhere in the dining room. I lucked out, there was a family size can of ravioli shoved back behind a box of powdered sugar.  
It didn’t smell expired, and I didn’t really want to check, certain that it couldn’t be that bad for me, even if it were. As I plopped it into a pot on the stove I remembered can drives and someone mentioning canned goods kept longer than others, I hoped that applied to this stuff, but let’s be honest, I was going to eat it anyway. Eat it I did, wishing I had something to drink other than tap water and doing my assigned reading for Biology at the same time. I ignored the sticky note marking the end of the reading, finishing the chapter, pulling out a notebook and finishing the questions in the back of it just to distract me. From there I did math homework, sitting at the dining room table and blaring music so loudly I could barely hear myself trying to do mental math. Despite all of it I still managed to keep track of the sun as it made it’s way toward the horizon, that rising dread keeping me from trying to call again. I didn’t really want to know what was happening there.  
In the end I cracked, calling Dad at seven pm, crossing my fingers as it continued to ring. Finally he picked up, sounding exhausted and slightly defeated,  
“Hey, Nina, everything okay at home?”  
“Fine, how’s Sandra?”  
He went quiet, taking a few seconds before he answered,  
“She hasn’t woken up. The doctors have been doing a few tests, and they’ll keep doing them for a while. Your mother is going to stay with her for them, I’ll be back late tonight, I have to go back to work tomorrow, Jerry insists they need me.”  
I was numb, something was wrong with Sandra. I tried to comment about Jerry being an asshat, only without those exact words, but it wouldn’t come out. Dad finished up the conversation on his own, not noticing that I’d ceased participating. He hung up shortly afterwards, and I could only set the phone down, laying my head against the table. True to his word he was back later, walking through the door at 10:08, sighing when he saw me at the table, head down and homework spread out. Assuming I was asleep he shook my shoulder,   
“Come on, up and at ‘em, you’ve got school in the morning.”  
I could think of thousands of things I’d rather do than go to school in the morning, numbering among them were eating live wasps, swimming in lava, and going to a Justin Beiber concert when Fallout Boy was playing across the street instead. I gathered my things, watching him open the fridge and marvel at the haul and then realize there wasn’t anything other than the untouchable gift food.   
Gathering my courage I cleared my throat,  
“About that...do you think I could stay with Sandra tomorrow instead?”  
It was a long shot, an impossible one, and I knew it even before he was shaking his head.   
“No, definitely not, it’s not a place for children.”  
The worst response he could have given. Well, one of them. Now I was pissed because one, Sandra was there and very much a child, two, why the hell am I a child now? Just three days ago I was being pressed to register for the ACT on my own, earn my own money for socks since all of mine had holes in them, talk to the guy at the McDonald's counter myself, all because I was ‘an adult’, or ‘growing up’. Before I could say any of this out loud the rational part of me that prefered life to attempting to get my point across leapt to the front of the brain, whispering soothing things about how they were fearing for one of their kids and it made them overprotective of the other one. I let it go, instead leaving the room without acknowledging him.   
I stayed up most of the night on my phone, mostly because I was afraid of what I’d see if I went to sleep. Instead I searched the internet, taking all of the information with a grain of salt. It started out with the complications of a head injury, as well as near drowning. After I’d made myself thoroughly ill I moved on to the mental issues involved in seeing an injury one minute and then it disappearing the next. I dug through psych issues, PTSD, medical conditions, and when I reach conspiracy theories about mutants running mass illusions solely to fuck with the ‘normal’ people I closed my tabs and called it a night. Or day, rather. It was four in the morning.   
The sleep I managed to get over the next week wasn’t enough to keep me from being snappy or moody, nor was the amount of food. Finding appropriate food around the house got easier after Dad got a few groceries, but whenever a time to eat became convenient I occasionally just didn’t feel like eating. I spent more and more time just holed up in my room, leeching off of Elise’s Netflix, reading, or adding to my music collection. Since my phone was damaged I dug out an old iPhone, but decided against switching to it. Instead I moved all of my things to it, books, movies, music, contact information, all of it. If my phone were taken then at least I would still have all of my things on my improvised ‘iPod’, even if it couldn’t make any calls other than emergency. It was something I’d done before when I’d anticipated being grounded, and it hadn’t failed me yet. When it reached week two since the incident I was ready to risk my access to technology, the tech they knew about anyway, for the next three weeks, marching up to my Dad as he went over paperwork at the dining room table.  
“I want to see Sandra.”  
He barely glanced up at me before replying,  
“No can do.”  
“Why not? I haven’t seen her or Mom for weeks!”  
He looked up at me fully, frowning,  
“Don’t get an attitude with me, only one visitor at a time is allowed in the wing she’s in. Why don’t you clean up the kitchen and go to bed, if you’re going to be prissy today.”  
As I viciously scrubbed at a stubborn spot on a plate I wondered why I even bothered. It was the same set of responses every time, from either parent. They probably had a planned series of phrases to use, or maybe they learned it from the same book, “how to make your child feel inferior as a human being, all in the name of ‘respect’ ”.  
Going to bed early that night actually did me good, I got more sleep than I’d had in days, and I was able to concentrate as the sub in my math class massacred the instructions for our assignment. I bumbled my way through it, not particularly caring if it was right, she’d probably throw it out anyway. It was during this class that I overhead an interesting piece of news. The mutant control legislation had failed to go through again, and people were furious, accusing the mutant population at large of tampering with technology, paperwork, and even people’s minds. As the theories got more outlandish I stopped listening and concentrated more on my level in Bejeweled, absently wondering what my parents thought of the legislation.  
When I got home that evening Mom was there. She looked ragged, even worse for wear than I’d thought she’d be. She’d run home to shower and change clothes every now and then but she looked mostly tired. She sent me out of the room while she talked to Dad and the old frustration at being bossed around rose up before I squashed it down again. It’s not like I would help much with their conversation. I’d just become a crying muddled mess once they mentioned she was still comatose….I was called back into the room after a little over an hour had passed, Mom waving to the kitchen,  
“We’re having sandwiches for dinner.” I wrinkled my nose, “Cut the tomatoes.” The expression of disgust spread but I obliged, pulling them down from their place and getting out the cutting board and appropriate knife. I nearly gagged as I made a slice, the texture making my stomach squirm and the smell...ugh.  
That bad luck I mentioned before reared it’s ugly head. Maybe, just maybe, if I hadn’t hated tomatoes so much to be so distracted by their general distasteful existence things wouldn’t have gone metaphorically south. I nicked my finger with the knife, hissing and dropping the blade onto the cutting board while examining the wound. Mom was by my side in a second, scowling and berating me,  
“Nina, I thought you had more sense than that!” She grabbed a paper towel, gently wiping off my finger and examining the cut. The sting had faded almost immediately to a rather annoying itch. “You know better than to let your mind wander when using a knife. What were you th-” She cut herself off roughly and I felt the itch get worse.  
I moved one hand to scratch it only to realize why she was staring, why she had stopped speaking. The long thin line of red was slowly turning pink at the edges. The pink spread inwards until the red was gone, white replacing the pink. The pale line matched what I’d seen weeks ago, it was as if I’d applied a single line of sunscreen. Even that disappeared as we watched. There was no denying it now, something was definitely happening.   
I looked up at her fearfully, swallowing at her blank expression. It was always worse when she didn’t even look angry anymore.  
“This...this is good, right? I mean, I could be green, or-”  
“Good? Good? It’s-!” She sighed, releasing me roughly. “Just...just go to your room. I need to talk to your father.”  
I practically ran from the room, wishing that my worst suspicions hadn’t been confirmed like this. I left the door ajar and sat close to the opening, hoping to hear what they had to say. It wasn’t difficult, they were practically yelling.  
“Martha, I know this is horrible, but-”  
“Don’t defend her! You know this is an abomination! Her very existence is a sin, a crime against God! You didn’t see it, the way it just...just went away! That’s for the divine to do! Not, not a girl!”  
I heard Dad sigh deeply before the couch cushions squeaked, he’d probably sat down.  
“Look, we’ll pretend it-shh, just listen for a second! We’ll pretend it didn’t happen, make sure she knows not to say anything about it, and then take her in on Sunday to Brother Barris, he’ll have advice for us.”  
“And if the church doesn’t want anything to do with her? Or us because of her? You know how gossip spreads in this town, I’ve got three lasagnas in my fridge as evidence!”  
“Then we’ll take her to the police, get her registered all nice and legal.”  
“Those mutant laws didn’t even make it into consideration this year, they won’t be able to do anything about it! At best they’ll study her somewhere after we give consent, hoping to find a cure for the disease.”  
“What is there even to ‘do’? You said she healed a small cut over several seconds, she isn’t exactly shooting lasers out of her ass, Martha. She isn’t dangerous or-”  
“Bullshit! She healed, but her sister is lying in a coma after she was alone with her underwater. The doctors aren’t sure why she isn’t waking up. Put it together Darren!”  
“Hey now, let’s not assign blame for that. They have several good theories as to why, that’s not exactly a free for all for accusations of foul play.”  
They argued for hours. Mom hated it, she hated me. Dad wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he wasn’t sharpening his pitchfork either. I didn’t know what to do. Mom made the decisions, always. Decision for Dad, for Sandra, for me. Always. From the color socks I was allowed to buy to the shows on even Disney channel that were off limits. What freedoms were she going to take based solely on some quirk in my genes? I mean, technically this was her and Dad’s fault, right?  
I googled everything I could find on mutants, and mutations. Puberty usually brought it out, though later in life it was still likely through trauma...well, that was certainly trauma I went through. After reading for several hours I decided no, I couldn’t blame my mother for it, there was only myself to blame for my unnatural state. I disgusted her, made Dad uncomfortable, Sandra was in a coma. Suddenly I was disgusted by me, too. Here I was unable to even get so much as a paper cut without being better in a few seconds while she lay on life support fighting to live from some mysterious complication to her injury at a Sunday picnic.   
Life wasn’t fair. It’s something we’re told often, but it didn’t really hit me until I sat on my bedroom floor and realized my mother hated me. Really, truly, hated me. She’d texted me from the next room over to tell me I wouldn’t be going to school for the rest of the week. She didn’t want to risk me giving myself away and embarrassing her. What was going to happen to me? I’d either be put through some shady purification ritual that wouldn’t work, (this was science, an exorcism wasn’t going to change my genetic code), or given to the government for processing and study. Maybe even both. As I always did when faced with a tough decision I called Elise. She’d gotten her phone back two days ago, so she answered on the first ring, the device practically glued to her hand now that it was returned.  
“Awful early for a phone call, couldn’t wait till I saw you at school? Or, I don’t know, you couldn’t have texted like a normal person?”  
My heart lurched at ‘normal person’. Was I lying to her? Deceiving her by not admitting that I wasn’t normal at all, that I was some ‘freak of nature’, like Mom put it? I decided that leaving it out wasn’t quite the same as lying.  
“Sorry, I’m not going to school today, family issues. I just had a quick...hypothetical, question.”  
“Um, okay, shoot.”  
“It’s for that novel I’m writing, I mentioned it a while ago. If you were a...a monster, and you were being faced with being captured and studied, or punished for being what you are, what would do?”  
There was silence and for a brief second I just knew she’d seen through it, that she would call me out, hang up, something, but she just sighed,  
“I don’t know, really. I suppose that no matter what I would want to do what’s best for me, monster or not. I’d want to not be captured and not be punished.”  
“But the monster can’t, it’s roommates are going to give it to the authorities.”  
“Then it needs to move out.” She said bluntly, “Just sticking around waiting for the firing squad is a horrible idea. What were you expecting me to say? For it to pray for forgiveness, maybe write out a last will? This ‘monster’s’ roomates suck ass, by the way.”  
“...something like that. And they’re good people, really. Thanks, Elise.”  
“No problem. Hope everything goes okay with your ‘family issues’.”  
“Thanks, me too.”  
I hung up, staring at the phone for a few seconds before looking around my room. I wouldn’t be able to survive running away. I was a sheltered little girl whose best form of rebellion was using her best friends Netflix to watch ‘forbidden’ shows, and getting utterly entrenched in pop culture that was ‘inappropriate’. But...I wasn’t a little girl, was I? And no, I don’t mean ‘I’m an adult now, I can care for myself’. I’m fifteen, for fucks sakes. Naw, I meant that I’m different from what I seem. Ignoring the ‘Wizards of Waverly Place’ theme song that played in the back of my mind at that thought I absently wondered if I could starve or if that would heal too.  
There was a thump and a yell from the room next to mine and I realized my parents were at it again, arguing over my newfound abomination status. It was the crash of something that spurred me into action. Things were getting violent, and it was my fault. Sandra was already in a coma, I didn’t need anyone else hurt because of me, or anything else, and that included my parent’s relationship. I emptied my bag of everything school related, throwing in a tightly folded change of clothes, extra underwear and socks, phone charger (regular and backup). I emptied the shoebox under my bed and counted out the money there. Forty seven dollars and sixty three cents. I shoved that into a pocket of the bag and pulled out my wallet, checking it. Twenty six dollars and...twelve cents. As I added that to the stash a thought hit me and I lunged for my clarinet case, pulling out the ten dollar bill I was going to use to buy reeds with. Doubt I would need those, now. I shoved in a few more last minute items I thought I might need, sticking my pocket knife, a gift from my Dad when I turned thirteen, into my front right pocket.  
I knew I was being rash. I knew this was probably a bad idea. But the reasoning not to stay was more or less sound, and I had a second opinion that agreed with me. And if I didn’t go now then I knew I’d either end up being too late or chickening out of going at all.  
From there I listened. When the noise was at it’s loudest I opened my window, staring at the screen on it before giving it a firm kick. It hit the ground with a rattle and I held my breath, listening. I eased myself to the ground, closing the window jerkily and putting the screen back as best as I could manage. At the sound of a door opening I darted for the treeline, hiding in the foliage and I heard Dad grumble as he put the trash out, screen door slamming behind him. When he’d been gone for almost a minute I left, not even picking a direction, just going. I didn’t have a destination in mind, just...not here.


	2. Chapter 02

Four days later my phone was shut off. I hadn’t even managed to leave the state yet. I’d been keeping it charged in fast food places where I’d buy a cheap drink and sit in the lobby, getting free refills and using the bathroom whenever I felt like it. It would make a great opportunity to get cleaned up, look presentable, and rest. Just like that, the device winked out, mid-level in bejeweled. I’ll admit I was holding out hope that my mother would go to the police, demand they find me and bring me home, or even use the GPS locator and bring me home herself. But no, instead she just cut me off. Apparently, she was of the opinion that I’d made my choice. I wanted to run home, tell her I wasn’t choosing mutants over her, that I was choosing my own freedom over her beliefs, but that wouldn’t be much better in her eyes. 

Things got a bit more difficult after that. I had to be careful about what I bought, and what I ate, when I ate, how often I bought food. On top of worrying about survival, I still wasn’t sure about where to go. It wasn’t like I’d set out with a plan. There was no ‘Promised Land’ for monsters. So I wandered. Just...walking. I’d shop at dollar stores, do laundry at laundromats, charging that improvised iPod while I was there, listening to my music and trying not to fall apart. My freakishness showed itself a few times. I fell when running from a dog that didn’t like me encroaching on its turf in between towns. I hadn’t realized that I was close to farmland by that point. The sprain, break, I wasn’t even sure what it was but I was able to limp somewhere and put it more or less back in place. I was wrong about the placement but rather than heal all weird and horribly it snapped painfully back into place, agonizingly slowly. It took hours. When it was finally done feeling like it was on fire I could walk with only a bit of tenderness. By the time I woke up the next morning it was as if it had never been messed up in the first place. 

That sort of stuff kept happening. I would fall, or get chased, or run into something, then the resulting injury would ever so slowly just, go away. For a while, I assumed that the smaller the injury the more quickly it would heal, and that was that. But after more time had passed and I had gathered a bit off accidental data I wasn’t so sure. I was running, having heard something in the trees behind me. I hadn’t been expecting the ground to just drop off. I landed in a creek, but it was shallow enough that I broke a leg, one snapping and the other giving in a way that I didn’t like either. I’d thought for certain I would die there, eaten by something, killed by infection, or just plain starvation, the raw pain being no joke either. 

But after I had dragged my sorry carcass somewhere mostly dry and passed out that freakish bit of me went to work. By morning my legs hurt, but more like the classic pre-teen ‘growing pains’ rather than ‘snapped to shit’. The pain was nothing compared to before, and I was up and moving within minutes of waking up. By the time I reached another town it was itching, and by the time I was washing up in the bathroom of a McDonald's even that was gone. I brushed my hair, washed my hands and face, changed my clothes, and left the bathroom, buying a small drink and filling it to the brim with water. I drained it twice before getting the only kind of fruit juice they offered and sliding into a booth seat that had an electrical outlet available. After plugging in my iPod I brought out a notebook and flipped to a page near the beginning.

I documented it, every incident. If it started to go away then I could return triumphantly home, ‘cured’. Adding this latest incident to the list made that dream die a violent death. My last instance of broken bone in my toe had taken two days before I could walk. Now it was overnight on several bones, without even bruising or soreness left by midmorning. It would seem that just like with any sort of ‘skill’ practice makes perfect on this stuff, or at least practice makes fast. The worst part was that I was glad that those injuries had healed. If I weren’t like this those would have laid me up for months each, and I likely could have died from any if not all of them. I immediately hated myself for being grateful for being a monstrosity, no matter the reasoning. Sandra was most likely still in a coma and here I was healing from broken bones overnight. 

Thinking of Sandra always sunk my mood dramatically. If I hadn’t left then I would be a lab rat, but at least as a lab rat, someone might even tell me how my little sister was doing. To get my mind off her I added the new information, googling some the correct names for the bones, using the general area of what had hurt like hell and the free wifi my iPod was picking up to make it as accurate as possible. I only had a vague time block since it had happened in my sleep, but I put approximately when the pain stopped, the itching started, and all negative sensation stopped. As I attempted to close the notebook the corner caught my index finger, the sting telling me I’d been cut but the blood didn't even have time to clot before the wound was closed again. There wasn’t even a line of pale this time. I scowled down at it for a second before shoving the notebook back into my bag. 

That McDonalds took a while to kick me out, longer than the others actually. Probably because I’d come in looking worse than usual due to my rough night. But the manager did end up kicking me out, eventually. I had managed to fill my drink up with Doctor Pepper before he did it, glad for the treat. Soda was something of a favorite of mine, and it made my day just a bit brighter each time I could manage to get my hands on some. But water and juice were my first priorities. The first because dehydration would suck, and the second for the nutrients and whatever. The sugars in juice would do better for blood sugar levels than the kinds of sugars that came in sodas. 

Before I left I was also able to fill up a few old water bottles in the bathroom sink. It was a usual thing for me, keeping every bottle I bought, washing it out, and then filling it with water whenever I had the chance. Going from city to city meant that in this part of the South I had a lot of distance to traverse between towns, and that meant a lot of forest and not much else. Occasionally I would stumble upon a ‘population of 40’ place that would have a single gas station I could get water from, but those were a bit hard to just run into with how I ambled about. It was likely that I would spend days in between seeing people. 

More than anything I was lonely. My mother hated me, my father didn’t care enough to put out an Amber alert (I’d checked), but I still had to avoid the police because I was so obviously a run away that they would take me in. And I didn’t want that. Because if they took me in they’d find out who I was, then call my parents, and then find out that they didn’t want me because of what I was. Once they knew that who knew what they’d do to me. It wasn’t like I would be missed. 

But more pressing than the loneliness was the hunger. I had water, but food was something that was scarce. I’d been getting less and less as my money ran out. I’d been walking for months when I completely ran out. There wasn’t much more to do with myself. I couldn’t think clearly, and I was just so done with all of it. With the fact that I was a freak, that I had nowhere to go, that I was alone...I was lying to myself before. I didn’t care where I was headed because I hadn’t been headed anywhere but dead. Some part of me had been aware of it right from the beginning. I wasn’t planning on doing anything but dying rather than being locked up and poked with needles. 

When that loneliness reached it’s peak I’d made it to a rather large town, not bothering to check where, as always. I was from a rather small place, where everyone knew everyone, but the churches were locked up at night to protect against hooligans. It seemed against everything I’d ever known except what happened on TV for a church to be open at night. I saw others like me, with no other place to go, walking in and being handed a scarf by the preacher standing at the door. It was a Catholic church, and I’d never been in one before. My parents were hardcore Southern Baptist, plus there wasn’t a Catholic church within twelve miles of our house. I sat down in a pew, ignoring how others were laying down to sleep in them, bowing my head.

I hadn’t prayed since...since before I’d figured out what was wrong with me. Since Sandra had still not woken up after several weeks. But if there was any time to pray then now would be it. There’d been a stubborn, burning, itching pain in my midsection for about two weeks now. The weight I’d lost since I’d left home was scary, and I saw my own internal fears reflected in the face of the priest at the door. Perhaps if I did a confession he wouldn’t tell anyone. He couldn’t, right? Some Catholic rule about that being uber private or whatever. My thoughts were drifting, I forced myself to concentrate on the hands I’d folded on the back of the pew in front of me reaching deep into myself for some sense of calm and proceeding with my religious begging. 

I apologized for being what I was, asking for some kind of sign, something to do. Anything. There was no answer, of course there wasn’t. But I couldn’t help but be disappointed at the silence. I pulled my arms and legs into the plain black hoodie I was wearing, curling up on the pew. It took a while to fall asleep, it was getting more difficult with the pain in my stomach fluxing as it did. During the day it would be fine, but by night it was once again burning and itching, complaining and begging for something, anything but water. 

A hand on my shoulder woke me up, scaring the shit out of me. I jumped out of my skin, falling off the pew and scooting away from them, all too used to middle-class mothers getting pissed seeing me ‘lounging around and loitering on their good clean streets’. It was either run or get hauled into jail by that point. If I just refused to talk then they had to let me go after a while, it’s not like they had anything on me except falling asleep somewhere odd. However, being hauled into a cell wasn’t in the cards for the night because it wasn’t some pissy lady, or a cop. Two people stood in front of me, the light from the stained glass windows tinting them pink, blue, and green. The one who’d placed a hand on my shoulder stepped back slightly, smiling reassuringly. She had dark skin, contrasting with her snowy hair, cropped short and spiky. The man next to her had brown hair, wearing a leather jacket and strangely red tinted sunglasses. The woman reached a hand out to help me stand up, smiling gently,

“Nina Hooper? We’re here to help.”

Yeah fuckin’ right. I didn’t take the hand, looking her directly in the eye instead.

“How do you know my name?

My voice was a bit rough, I hadn’t had the chance to use it in a while, but she ignored it, staying crouched down beside me.

“I’m Ororo, this is Scott. A friend of ours knows of you, he sent us to help.”

Yeah, because that wasn’t suspicious still.

“Knows of me? Did he know my parents? Did they tell him to send you?”

That stirred up equal parts hope and fear, hope that they still cared but fear that they just wanted to toss me into a lab. She shook her head sadly, cutting off my worrying before I could get it going full swing.

“Nothing like that, we’re just...scouts, for a special school. We take children in need and give them someplace safe to learn.”

So...they pick up homeless kids? I scooted a bit further back, raising an eyebrow. Running around on my own for months had done wonders for my fear of authority and people in general, allowing me to smart off slightly. 

“As wonderful as that sounds, you don’t exactly look very official or anything.”

Well, nothing witty or even too sarcastic, but just challenging them was new to me. Ororo’s smile broadened and she tilted her head, eyes going pure white and the sound of the light patter of rain reached us. Then her eyes faded back to normal and the noise faded as well. She reached a hand out again.

“I told you, we scout for a special school. You’re safe with us.”

I wanted to shrink back further but there was a wall in the way. A mutant, two mutants. One could control the weather and if that wasn’t solely supposed to belong to the realm of God I didn’t know what did. But...they were like me. And if I was going to be this...this thing then why should I have to go it alone? If they wanted to kill me, and that’s why they were here, as some sort of mutant honey trap...then they would be sorely disappointed in how difficult it was. So I took her hand, gently, carefully. She pulled me up easily, cocking her head at me curiously.

“Bit thin, aren’t we?”

I just shrugged, not wanting to admit I’d turned out to be thoroughly incapable of taking care of myself. They led the way outside, or at least Ororo did. Scott trailed behind and I tried to ignore the fact that I couldn’t see him behind me, instead sticking close to his mutant friend. She explained as she opened the back door of a sleek black car for me, 

“We actually flew here, but we figured we’d rent a car to get you to the jet.”

“...jet?”

“Yes, the school’s funding has few limits.”

We pulled out of the church parking lot and I settled my bag on my knees, staring out the window as I asked,

“Where is this school, anyway?”

“Upstate New York. Set a bit apart from everything else, but it’s better for privacy. It’s a year-round place, there are Summer courses, though if you don’t need them then there’s always other activities to do.”

She spun a fanciful tale of this wonderful paradise on Earth, hitting everything that I would care about. As a bookworm the library appealed, as a nerd the coursework appealed, and as a different sort of nerd the cable tv and internet access appealed. Altogether it seemed much too good to be true, but I was a bit hesitant to voice it when stuck in a small metal box with the two of them. My earlier courage had disappeared. Old limp-noodle-me was back in full force. I was in the backseat of a car, a child, and they were adults. The hierarchy had been clear my entire life. I was to obey. Questioning their story and their sanity was not in the books. But Scott spoke up, glancing at me through the rearview mirror as he drove. 

“Don’t believe us, do you?”

Before I could even think of an answer he shrugged one shoulder, seemingly unconcerned.

“You’ll see for yourself when you get there. And if it doesn’t live up to your expectations, if you don’t like it there, then you don’t have to stay. You’re free to leave with any good reason.”

Don’t think I missed that qualifier. ‘With any good reason’. Heh, I’m familiar with that. No reason I’ll have is good, simply because it comes from me, I’ve played this game before. I didn’t bother to point it out, knowing better. Instead, I continued to look out the window. When we got to a clearing there was nothing there and I felt a bit vindicated that they were probably going to attempt to kill me and dump the body. But there was a click like someone unlocking a car and the air shimmered, an honest to god jet appearing out of seemingly nothing. 

Through the awe all I could do was swallow roughly and dumbly ask,

“What about the car?”

It was a good question, who the hell was going to return the car if everyone was getting on the jet? But Ororo just smiled at me as she opened the door to let me out, stepping back as I swung my backpack on.

“We arranged with the company for someone to pick it up here. We’ve done business with them before. Not this particular branch, but they have policy for this sort of thing, though it’s usually at established airports.”

Right, this wasn’t exactly a runway…

“How the hell did you land this thing?”

It slipped, from all the time alone, and I continued, not noticing I was acting in a way that would have had my mother ending my existence. I motioned around us to the trees and then to the jet,

“There’s literally no runway! And do you even have permission to be here?”

I noticed Scott smiling at me and clamped my mouth shut, brain finally catching up with my mouth. I kept my eyes on my toes, avoiding eye contact.

“Sorry.”

I flinched when a gentle, slender hand landed on my shoulder and steered me towards the entrance of the jet, dropping down with a quiet sound.

“Don’t worry about it, questions are encouraged. And you’re right, we don’t exactly have permission to land here. And as for no runway...well, this is different from your average plane.”

Indeed it was not. After I’d placed my bag somewhere it wouldn’t roll around and Ororo had helped me strap in we took off, lifting straight up, fucking UFO style. I could only stare at my knees and try to comprehend it all as we sped along. Here I was, the runaway picked up from a church by mutants and sequestered away in a fucking UFO to a ‘special school’. This was either the beginning of a horror novel where I’d be brutally murdered ‘Wrong Turn’ style, or a Hallmark movie. I hated Hallmark movies, personally, but I knew what I’d prefer to be living at this moment. 

Before I could even get up the guts to ask more questions we were landing again. I stared at Ororo as she came in, smiling gently and helping me unbuckle.

“Yeah, quick, I know. Takes a bit of getting used to. Very different from normal planes, isn’t it?”

I shrugged,

“Wouldn’ know, never been on one. Never left the state, actually, cept to visit my Grama in Louisiana.”

She looked slightly surprised but didn’t comment about the plane bit, instead focusing on the other part.

“And what state was that? Where are you from?”

I raised an eyebrow and before I was able to quash it said,

“What, your friend didn’t tell you much?”

I immediately winced, mentally yelling at myself for losing every bit of my sense of self-preservation.

“Sorry, Mississippi, I’m from Mississippi. Sorta near Vicksburg.”

She patted me on the back and I resisted the urge to flinch,

“Hey, no need to apologize, I get it was a personal question. There are some questions you can feel free not to answer just...please don’t hold back anything about your health or happiness, okay?”

I nodded, if only to get her to look away from me, piercing eyes starting to get a bit unnerving. Once eye contact was broken I looked around, noting that Scott had left the building, jet, whatever. I opened my mouth to ask but noticed Ororo looking at my bag and snapped my mouth shut, remembering who was in charge here. I was afraid she would tell me to leave it, that maybe I wouldn’t see it again. Instead, she motioned towards it.

“Grab your things, we’re going to see the Professor and then we’ll get you a room, and some food, okay?”

Food sounded divine, but I was stuck on the first bit. 

“Professor?”

“Professor Xavier. He runs the place. He’s brilliant, I think you’ll like him.”

I wasn’t expecting this ‘school’ to be a manor, with all the grounds and gardens, and pools, and tracks that comes with it. It was markedly colder than it had been down south, and I barely hid shivers. There were no people around, even on the opulent inside and the old suspicions were brewing again when I heard laughter from one of the rooms, children it sounded like. Ororo jerked her head at the door as we passed it, smiling softly.

“That’s the playroom for the younger kids.”

“There are young kids, too?”

“Of course, everyone is welcome. The older ones stay and teach if they want to. No one is turned away. But the younger ones are usually left here, or come with older siblings.”

I looked away at that, trying my best not to think of Sandra, lying in a hospital bed. At least she wasn’t on the run and starving. Maybe she was awake by now, hating me with the rest of them...Before I could finish that thought I heard someone, male with an accent, speaking.

_Now, now, don’t be so harsh on yourself._

I whirled around, looking for who was speaking, holding a hand over my mouth. I hadn’t spoken out loud, I wasn’t that far gone, was I?

_Indeed you are not._

I jerked my head around again, uncertain as to what the hell was going on, legs tensing as I got ready to bolt. I didn’t know where I was, but that wouldn’t stop me from scaling that rather impressive brick wall and hightailing it out of here. 

_There’s no need for that, just follow Ororo. You’re safe here, everything will be fine._

Sure, disembodied voice. I’ll just take what’s left of my sanity and follow the Weather Witch, that sounds safe.

There was something like a soft laugh, chuckle really, that floated along the wind, Ororo not reacting as she faced me with an eyebrow raised questioningly.

_I wouldn’t let her hear you calling her that. She prefers ‘Storm’, if we’re going to be referencing her abilities._

Abilities. Ah, neurons were firing now. This guy probably had some kind of ‘voice of the wind’ powers. There was no answer to that, so I hesitantly followed Ororo, feeling the comforting weight of my bag. I was glad now that I hadn’t ditched it. I was getting unable to carry it as easily as I used to. Probably the hunger stuff, though it was affecting me much slower than I’d thought was possible. I hadn’t had the reason to go into a fast food place recently enough to have leeched wifi and googled how fast it takes to starve. I knew it was longer when you had water, but the exact amount of time was escaping me. My wandering thoughts were interrupted when we reached a heavy door, Ororo pushing through to reveal a bald man behind a desk who was beaming at us as we walked in. There was a red headed woman standing beside him who was glaring at him something furious. She glanced over at us, her eyes landing on me and a strange light shining through before she excused herself, pushing past Ororo. Well, some tension there.  
The man spoke then, voice matching what I’d heard whispered into my ear earlier.

“Indeed there is. Jean there wanted to be the advisor to the next girl we found, but Ororo was the only one available. As such she obtained the honor. During your stay here it will be Ororo’s job to make sure you’re getting everything you need and that you feel at home. I understand this can be a bit of a shock, do you have any questions?”

When is feeding time around here, was the first thing that popped into my head, but I knew better. Demanding food would mean not getting any. Asking about it signaled impatience, which would lead to the same thing. Asking any question in general was frowned upon, but I was going to go out on a limb here and try my hand at a few.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Ah, good question. You see Nina, I am a telepath. I possess a machine that works to amplify that power, letting me scan the world for mutants. It just so happens that yesterday I was looking for someone specific when your startlingly strong plea came through rather clearly. Were you perhaps wishing for help at the time?”

“....I was praying.”

Well, at least someone answered, even if it was a Jean-Luc Picard lookalike. I heard that same chuckle and noticed he was giving me a half smile, 

“I do come across that comparison regularly. A long lost cousin, I should think. Any other questions bothering you?”

Well, the fact that he was in my head, but then again, telepath. Fair enough. I suppose the whole ‘guarding your thoughts’ was worthless, ‘ don’t think of pink elephants’ and all that, though only thinking of pink elephants would likely work rather well in keeping someone from learning anything. ‘What the hell, there’s only pachyderms in here, guess this one’s broken.’ He was smiling a bit wider by this point and I jerked my thoughts toward productivity, I wasn’t here to be comic relief. 

“Erm, do you always help when people cry out? Seems like you’d get a lot of false alarms, mutant children praying for help on a math test they didn’t study for and all that…”

Despite the mood lightener I attempted to tack onto the end he still sobered up dramatically, steepling his fingers under his chin and fixing me with a piercing stare. 

“No, I’m quite capable of telling the difference between small issues and actual pain. You, my dear, were dying when I sent out my x-men, as the students endearingly refer to them. When you entered this mansion you were fine, but even now I can sense you dying once more.”

The burning had started when I’d entered this hallway, true, but the itching would come in a few hours, before I went to sleep, it always did. So I shrugged, somewhat of a mental mystery of mine having been more or less solved.

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. It’s...well, it’s what’s wrong with me.”

Ororo spoke up, looking concerned,

“What? What’s killing you?”  
I shook my head, 

“No, what’s wrong with me keeps me alive. My ‘mutation’, or whatever. It all started when I jumped in a lake, cut my leg on something. It was gone by the end of the day. Now broken bones are healing in a matter of hours, and starvation is temporarily reversed overnight. I’d wondered...it makes sense now, I was being an idiot, I knew the itching was familiar.”

While I was mentally categorizing it the Professor got a far off look in his eyes, left hand going to gently touch his left temple, but Ororo captured my attention, taking me by the shoulders and forcing eye contact. 

“Listen to me, Nina, there is nothing wrong with you. Well, beside the starvation, but we’ll fix that. Why didn’t you say something?”

Don’t speak out of turn, that’s why. But really,

“I didn’t realize I was starving. Honestly, I thought that it was taking its sweet time, but I figured that I was drinking enough water or something...it’s not like I got to that unit in biology before I was forced to bounce.”

I cut myself off, looking at my feet and instinctively apologizing. Before I could get the entire thing out I was pulled into a hug, crushed to Ororo’s chest. I tried to flinch away but I was apparently dying and she was in damn good shape. Besides, it had been forever since someone had bothered to give me a hug. I went limp, eventually, and it didn’t last very long before a door was opening and the red headed woman, Jean I think, waltzed in carrying a tray. She set it down on the professor's desk, smiling at me.

“Here you go, I’m Doctor Jean Grey. This should help you get some nutrients without hurting your stomach.”

It was a pitiful amount of what looked like oatmeal, and it was gone before I even really needed to break for air. But I recognized her wisdom and bowed to it, realizing that my stomach felt a bit stretched, and the itching had already started. So, proper nutrients kick in that shit quicker, who knew. Once the food was gone I focused on the Professor, who looked like he was gazing into the distance. Probably listening in to whatever the women outside his door were saying. He turned to me as I thought that, smiling slightly,

“I really try not to listen in, but it does seem to help ease these first encounters. Many find that there are things they are unable to voice, and not being required to eases many of their nerves.”

First encounters. Heh, like aliens, ‘first encounters of the mutant kind’. It was as I made that horrible as hell joke I realized I probably had been in worse shape before than I thought. The Professor just smiled at me, motioning a hand at the door and it creaked open, revealing two guilty looking women.

“Ororo, why don’t you show Miss Hooper to her room, I believe she needs her rest. Jean? If you could inform Miss Coleman that she’ll be having a new roommate?”

Picking up my bag was even harder, for some reason, but I forced myself through the action, being sure not to let it show. I am not a wimp. It was my mantra that got me all the way to the room that I would now be sharing with another girl. But that was fine, as much as having my own room most of my life had spoiled me having nowhere at all for several months had been like hitting factory reset on all my preferences. It was a bit cramped, set on the right side of the hall. Walking in there were two beds pressed against the walls on each side, with a single mirror on the wall behind the door. There were two dressers directly across from the door, under a large window. I could see another door, most likely a closet.

The left side of the room was already occupied, little knickknacks and various articles of clothing strung along it. I set my things down at the foot of the bed before turning to Ororo, who was waiting for my reaction,

“Well, like it?”

“It’s brilliant.”

Really, anything would be better than sleeping in a gas station bathroom. Though I didn’t get much sleep in those before I was booted out. A thought hit me and I turned back to her from checking out the, admittedly wonderful, view of the garden.

“Ah, where’s the bathroom?”

She pointed down the hall,

“There are several shared bathrooms. You’ll be given a few times to choose from for your shower block. There are quite a few on each floor, though, so time and hot water are hardly ever an issue. Your roommate will help you get that settled in the morning. I’ll also have some shower equipment for you by that time. Anything else?”

There was a lot actually, mostly ‘why are you so kind to me’, and ‘how the hell did I go from dying in a church to living it up in a boarding school’, but that could wait. The food was weighing me down and for a second I wondered if it was drugged and this is where the ‘honey trap’ bit came in, where I would be killed and harvested for parts or something. But I shook my head, generally done with everything and not particularly caring by this point. If they wanted my organs they could have them, so long as my last memory was falling into that soft looking bed and sleeping soundly. Ororo saw me eyeing it and grinned, 

“That’s only temporary, you’ll be able to personalize your own bedding by next week.”

So, they make sure I’m staying before spending any more resources on me. Wise. I thanked her sluggishly, and she departed, letting me kick off my shoes, peel off my hoodie, and worm my way under the lime green comforter. There was a second of bliss before I drifted off.

 

***

 

I woke up to war. That’s what it sounded like anyway, a bunch of yelling, screaming, and a few soft explosions from the hallway. I scrambled for my bag, these jeans didn’t have pockets (damn women's clothing) so my pocketknife was in one of the little pouches. As I fumbled for it the door swung open and I winced, falling backward. A girl, taller than me, I could tell even as I was sitting on the floor in front of her, looked shocked to see me there. She had blonde hair that hung poker straight around her face, parted dead center. She was pretty, in that classic ‘girl next door’ sort of way, and her eyeliner was killer, let me tell you. Neat as a peel and stick tattoo. I was shaken out of my state of ‘slightly impressed’ when she gasped out loud,

“I’m so sorry! Did we wake you?”

She turned behind her, high voice getting lower and slightly frightening as she shouted,

“I told you to keep it the hell down! We’ve got a newbie trying to sleep!”

The noise ceased almost immediately and I just sat there in shock as she stepped forwards, pink hoodie proudly stating ‘Princess’ as she held a hand out to me, bright green eyes set up a small nose and brilliantly white smile,

“Thanks for the compliment about the eyeliner, by the way. I’m Anna.”

What? I _know_ I’m not saying all of this shit out loud.

She snickered,

“No, you aren’t. Sorry, I’m a telepath. I’m usually really good about keeping out of people's heads but...you think pretty loudly.”

“S-sorry. I’ll...think quieter."

I experimented with that for a second, going from my previous panicked state to forcing calm through me and she nodded, grinning.

“See? I’m getting nada, except for lifesigns of course. If you could hide that I’d be super impressed. Now! Important business.”

She looked me over, clucking her tongue,

“We need to get you a shower and something to wear."

Before I could apologize she glanced up at my face sharply, frowning.

“Don’t apologize, there’s nothing for you to apologize for. If anything I should be the one apologizing. I insulted your clothes and told you that you needed a bath.”

“...my clothes are worn to hell, and I _do_ need a bath, though.”

She sighed,

“We’ll break you out of that, I’m sure. Come on, we’ll get you some clothes from Helen, you look around her size.”

She turned to the door but paused, looking me back over again with narrowed eyes.

“We’ll also be fixing that. Because Helen is _eleven_. After you change and shower we’re getting you some food.”

That was a plan I could get behind.

For some reason, it was infinitely easier trusting Anna than it was to trust Ororo, or even the professor. I knew why I trusted Jean enough that I ate whatever she handed me without a thought of sedatives or poison until well afterward. She had red hair, just like Sandra and my father. Though more like Sandra, honestly. My dad’s hair was mostly gone by this point in his life. It seemed a superficial reason for trust, but I was more than a bit vulnerable lately.

Helen turned out to be a sweet girl, happily marching into her closet, sizing me up, and handing me something she said might ‘suit my tastes’. Anna appeared at my side seconds later, though I hadn’t noticed she’d ever left, handing me a teal bath caddy,

“Ororo dropped these off at the room, forgot about ‘em earlier. It’s your bath things. She said to be sure and look them over first, make sure you aren’t allergic to anything.”

Um, even if I was the rash would likely disappear even as it formed. But I looked it over anyway, strawberry scented everything. I nodded in approval, muttering,

“At least it’s all one scent. I’d hate to run around smelling like an entire fruit basket.”

Anna snickered, steering me bodily towards a dark oak door, stopping just outside it.

“This bathroom doesn’t have an occupied slot for another three hours, so take your time. I’ll be in the room when you’re done. You remember how to get there?”

I thought about it, a left, and then...four doors?

She sighed, apparently picking up on my hesitance.

“Just think really loudly again while you’re wandering and I’ll come get you. Here’s your towel.”

With that she bounced off, tapping a tall boy with oddly green eyes on the shoulder as she went past, cackling when he looked in the wrong direction and missed her.   
The water was warm, and it felt like heaven. As much as I hated to be covered in the stuff because of that day at the lake I hadn’t bathed in so long...this was Nirvana. That time of the month had been a special sort of hygienic hell, and stocking up on the necessities had ended up eating my budget up a good bit before I’d lost enough weight that it had just stopped coming. I wasn’t looking forward to having that again, but I was looking forward to no longer having a gnawing pain-and-then-itch cycle deep in my gut. 

When I finally stepped out of the shower I felt like a new person. The disposable razor in the bath caddy had been a godsend all on its own, never mind the small brush for cleaning under my nails. It took a good twenty minutes with my new hairbrush to get all of the tangles out of my hair. It was rather thick naturally, with a bit of harsh curl that I wished was more ‘delicate’, like the girls on tv, or at school even. I found a few hair bands at the bottom of the caddy, placed three on my right wrist, and used the other to braid my hair. From there I dressed, having received dark jeans that fit surprisingly well, even being nearly the right length. I rolled them up slightly so they didn’t drag the floor, pulling on the black t-shirt and matching socks. I avoided looking at the mirror, knowing what I would see. My eyes used to be brown. A few weeks ago something had happened, a lot of confusion, a jumpy woman walking at night with too-strong-to-be-legal pepper spray being really close to me and getting startled, I healed funny, the brown coming back dark, so dark it probably shouldn’t be counted as brown anymore. Google had only offered some science mumbo jumbo about Melanin that I mostly ignored.

When I felt more or less presentable I folded my clothes, gathered my things and towel, and exited the bathroom. There was no one in the hall and I carefully made my way to where I thought my room was before giving up and, feeling foolish, loudly thought ‘Anna’. Within seconds a door three down from my estimate popped open and my roommate appeared, beaming at me and motioning me inside.

“There, feel better?”

I nodded vigorously before carefully packing away my clothes, setting the bath caddy on the floor beside my bag before standing.

“You said something about food?”

Fellow child = safe to ask.

She clapped her hands together before leading the way, pristine purple vans making me feel a bit self-conscious about my utterly ruined red converse. I ignored it, following sedately as she danced her way along the hall and down two flights of stairs. We saw a few other people and some waved, others didn’t notice me. I tried to sink in on myself as best as possible, feeling outnumbered and more than a bit cornered. Anna wasn’t having it, though, grabbing me gently by the arm and pulling me along with her, entering a professional grade kitchen and throwing open cabinets.

“I already ate, with everyone else, but I’m sure I can find something here for you. Got to get you to stop looking like a ghost of Christmas past at least.”

Did I really look that bad?

Before I could voice any concerns a throat was cleared behind us and we jumped, me backing up and ready to run but Anna just looking sheepish.

“Doctor, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that she needs some food. Surely we can poke around for that.”

Jean smiled at the girl motioning out of the room with her chin. 

“Get to your music class, I’ll take it from here.”

Anna obliged, smiling and waving cheerily before leaving the room. I could only stare after her, slightly bewildered, muttering,

“She is one perky individual.”

Jean laughed, 

“Indeed she is. I can’t even imagine how she would react to knowing about your current health...issues, or the full extent of them at least. I’m assuming you would rather keep it quiet?”

I nodded vigorously and she motioned to the fridge,

“I thought so. I’ve already prepared some nutrient rich foods for you that your body won’t reject. I’m...unsure, how it will react with your abilities, though. After you eat I’d like to take you down to the lab.”

My entire body tensed and I’m sure she noticed, because she threw her hands up defensively,

“Nothing like that, Nina, I’m a doctor remember? I just want to give you a physical, maybe test to see how your abilities will affect your recovery and how I can help you best.”

As superficial as trusting a redhead is, I found I couldn’t help it. She just spoke so softly, and smiled so sincerely...before I knew it we were in an elevator and going down several floors, more than I’d thought this place had. I felt less weighed down than yesterday when I’d eaten, though the amount of food was the same as before, and just as bland, too.

When the elevator opened the rich wood and elegant furnishings were gone, replaced by chrome and steel. Following Doctor Jean was made a bit difficult by all of the staring I wanted to do, the entire place looked like some kind of SciFi novel come to life. Finally, we reach a set of doors that slid open as she approached them, leaving me to follow a bit hesitantly. Inside the theme of silver, white, and blue still remained but otherwise it looked like a doctor’s office, maybe a bit more hospital like, due to the sheer range of equipment. I took my shoes off, stood on a scale, she recorded my height and weight, motioning to the bed for me to sit on without looking up, 

“Age?”

“Erm, fifteen.”

She frowned at that, making a mark on her clipboard,

“And how long have you been on your own?”

“...about, five months?”

She marked that down, moving her pen to the next question.

“And how long since you last ate, discounting what you had here.”

“Around two months, a bit more actually. But I always had plenty of water so…”

Her face was blank as she put the clipboard down to take measurements, then putting me through a few physical tests, and taking a few samples. Two vials of my blood were taken, and she gave me a small iron pill to take for dizziness, though I wasn’t exactly feeling any I took it anyway with the small cup of water she gave me. She didn’t even have time to put a bandage on before the holes were gone. I tossed the little cotton ball into the trashcan by the bed, tired of holding it and knowing I didn’t need it any longer. One of the vials of my blood was run through a hella complicated looking machine while she advised me on how the next few days would play out, leaning against the desk by the machine, arms crossed as she observed me.

“You’re going to have to be careful over the next few weeks, okay? There are bottles of fruit juices, actual fruit juices, not the artificial ones, in the fridge upstairs. I’ll be labeling a few with your name, be sure to keep one on you at all times, and if you feel faint, or even just thirsty, drink some of it. It will go a long way towards bolstering your immune system and getting you functioning again. I’ll have to give you a checkup at least once a-”

The machine behind her dinged and she looked down at it, startled.

“Um, that’s supposed to take a bit longer to map your abilities genetic combination.”

She tapped the screen a few times, pulling up what looked like a file. She took one look at what was written there and minimized the entire thing, leaving only a rotating silver ‘x’ inside a circle. When she straightened up and faced me the confusion was gone and she smiled softly at me,

“Well, I was wrong. I guess the Professor already ran the updates. Now, where was I?”

“Checkups?” 

“Of course. Hm, how about after each meal you come see me in my office upstairs? I have some similar equipment, it won’t take you too much time. It also should be rather easy to slip your replacement food in among the others at group meals, it’s something of a circus. You’ll have to get your classes settled before we can find out which lunch would fit best….”

She rolled the black chair towards us, plopping down and leaning her elbows her on her knees. 

“So, what classes were you taking before?”

I cast my mind back, a few conflicting memories from last year interfering before I was able to come up with it. 

“I was a Sophomore, tenth grade. It wasn’t a very large school district, it didn’t offer much other than the usual core subjects. Um, English, Algebra 2, Oral Communications, World History, Biology and Chemistry, Health, and Band.”

She nodded at all of it, raising an eyebrow at the last bit.

“We have equivalents for all of those, though ‘band’ is honestly more a private music rehearsal time. What did you play? We have instruments lying around in the practice rooms, the Professor is big on encouraging the arts.”

I could play again? Hell fuckin’ yeah.

“Clarinet.”

She tilted her head in thought, scrunching up her nose,

“That’s a reed instrument, correct? I’ll have Scott pick up some reeds for you when he’s in town, I’m sure those aren’t something you’re willing to share, even though the instrument itself shouldn’t be a problem.”

With one last look at the now mostly blank screen, Jean stood, pushing her chair back to where it was before and pulled open a few cabinets before finding plain black pants, and a plain white shirt. She handed the stack to me with a small smile,

“These are for patients but they’ll work as pajamas for a while until we can get you some real ones. Now, I believe it would be best for you to sleep it off. The mixture from today was a step up in nutrient and mineral count, so if your brain checks out for a bit your mutation should make up for the rest and help you out.”

I was escorted back to my room, clutching the soft clothes, and when she left me alone I changed rapidly, folding my borrowed outfit and putting it on my dresser/desk thing before falling into bed. I had honestly expected to lie awake for a while and think the entire situation properly through but the next thing I knew it was dark outside and Anna was a lump in the bed on the other side of the room. Slipping out of bed I fished my iPod out of my bag, noting that it was running low on juice. It was five in the morning and before I could really wonder how the hell I’d managed to sleep that long I noticed something. My stomach was growling. Not hurting, but _growling_. It hadn't demanded food in a long time. True it would ache and remind me that sustenance was required, but not the normal prompting for a snack. 

Putting the iPod away I stood, stretching slightly and checking to make sure I wasn’t disturbing Anna. Looking that direction drew my eyes to where my clothes from the day before had been. Instead of being met with the sight of those hopeless rags there was a note, in curling script that I could barely make out in the gloom. Clothes in the closet, huh. Right side was mine. Well, then. The house was still silent, and I quietly found a bathroom that didn’t have an occupied time slot for right now posted outside the door, which wasn’t hard actually. After a shower and braiding my hair, returning my pajamas and bath caddy to the room, I retraced my steps from the day before when following Anna. 

Finding the kitchen was rather easy, but getting up the nerve to actually go through the cabinets was impossible. Fear of getting into trouble, getting caught, it forced me to take a seat on one of the stools at the island instead, dragging one of the abandoned textbooks over to me and flipping through it instead. Surely whoever came in here first could tell me how things worked here. Yesterday when Anna got caught by Jean she’d been rather defensive on her reasoning, perhaps food was handed out at established mealtimes only, it was how Mom had worked. Permission had to be obtained before a package was opened, or food was consumed. I was able to distract myself with the history textbook until the door opened. Even though I was waiting for it I flinched, losing my place in the book and nearly falling off my seat. 

Scott looked equally surprised to see me, wearing a white t-shirt and black jogging pants, red sunglasses still in place. He looked like he’d just run a few miles, and honestly, he probably had. Anna mentioned there was a gym around here somewhere after all. We stared at one another for a few seconds before he sighed,

“Nina, what are you doing awake?”

I shrugged with one shoulder, looking back down at the textbook and wondering if students were even allowed in the kitchen, shit, even when I try to behave I can’t do it right.

“Got hungry, thought I’d wait and see how meals are handled. Am I not supposed to be in here?”

He shook his head, walking over to the fridge and opening one side of it, pulling out a water bottle and another bottle, tossing it to me. I caught it, slightly surprised I’d managed it, and looked it over. Apple juice, some namby pamby organic brand my mother would rather do shots of rattlesnake venom than buy. My first name was written in that same curling script that was on the note upstairs, sharpied onto the side of the bottle. Scott cleared his throat as he shut the fridge,

“Jean said these were for you, that you should carry them around. Ah, six will be added to the fridge every morning apparently. And yes, you’re allowed to be in here.” 

He pulled a clipboard off the side of the fridge that I hadn’t noticed before, the magnet that kept it in place nearly falling to the floor, though he caught it with ease. He placed the magnet back on the fridge and handed me the clipboard,

“This is the schedule for this month’s chores, whoever is on food duty for breakfast today should be getting in here soon. After your first week here, once you're settled in, you can sign up for whatever chore you detest the least. I’m told laundry duty volunteers are getting scarce, but that’s because everyone wants to cook. Apparently, it’s a blast.”  
I looked over the chart, flipping the pages to check for the next few days. All of the ‘food duty’ column people had the meals they planned to make written down, and there was a green check beside some and red line through others. Apparently, it still had to be adult approved. This was...a rather neat way of running things. The kid weren’t paying to stay here, or go to school, but doing chores and running the place would have things go smoother. There wouldn’t be an issue or hiring staff at least. Hiring people would pose a problem, I suppose, the background checks would have to be hella thorough to make sure they didn’t have a mutant vendetta.

While I was mulling it over Scott bustled about the kitchen awkwardly, making what sounded like a bowl of cereal. The microwave ran and I wanted to give him a disappointed stare for microwaving lucky charms but finished the page of food listings first. As I looked up a bowl was set in front of me, the same ‘good for me goop’ disguised as oatmeal. There was more of it than before and my stomach let out a loud noise, encouraging me to dig in. Instead, I looked up at Scott, who shrugged,

“Jean made sure all of those already in the loop about your health issues knew how to handle it. She should be in here in a few hours, she’ll have a meal plan for you, I’m sure.”

He sat across from me munching on cheerios and I shoveled down the oatmeal approximate in under a minute, stomach straining once again. I felt a bit ill but it passed after I sipped on the apple juice for a bit. That healing thingy probably, but it’s not like I was entirely sure how it worked. I continued looking over the chore calendar while Scott washed his bowl, wishing me a good day before disappearing out the door. Having nothing else to do I washed my own bowl and spoon, leaving them in the draining rack with Scott’s things before settling in at the island again with that history book to wait for Jean. I was supposed to have a check-up after each meal after all. 

I wasn’t sure about how I felt about that, about any of this. Some strange school in the middle of nowhere run by some British-y guy who could read minds, and his assistants, Glasses and Ginger. They were all nice enough, too nice actually. I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe I would stay here, live it up with all of this nonsense, but the moment it took a turn for the worst I would be out of here. Afterall, there was no way any of this was genuine. A school for freaks? Come on, my Hogwarts letter never arrived and I knew better than to keep hoping. This...it wasn’t the same as that anyway. That was magic, somewhere that magic belonged, this was, it was sin wrapped in abominations and anarchy. But that was extremely rude to point out. Not to mention awkward. So, I’d be leaving that out of opinion should it ever be asked. I knew better than that, they were taking care of me, insulting them, even if it may be true, wasn’t appropriate. 

I’d stopped actually paying attention to what was written in the history book by the time Jean got there, stopping dead when she saw me and beaming at the apple juice I already had in hand.

“Good, I was hoping you would find those.”

I shrugged one shoulder,

“I didn’t. Scott came in a while ago, gave me this and some healthy goop stuff. I wasn’t sure where to go from there.”

People were up and about as she led the way to her office once her cocoa pebbles had disappeared startlingly quickly. They generally ignored us, though a few wished Jean a good morning as we went past. Her office was on the same floor as the Professors, a similar oak door opening to reveal a spacious place filled with computers, a desk, and some of the machines that I had seen downstairs in sci-fi land. We ran through most of the same things as yesterday before she took another blood sample and ran it, frowning slightly and reminding me to drink that juice throughout the day. 

After that she printed off a schedule and an incomplete map. It only had my classes and little lines leading from one to the other. There were time’s next to the classrooms as well to tell me when I needed to be at each one. Before she let me go for the day she advised me to sit in on the classes and ‘take it easy for a while’. Well, an excuse to slack off? They picked the wrong person to take advantage of that. 

I sat in the back of the classrooms, hunkered down in my seat and trying to stay unnoticed and out of sight. It was a bit difficult with the small class sizes but the very first class I had was taught by Ororo, who wasn’t having any of that ‘oh look, a new kid’ bullshit in her class. As I left that class I saw Jean enter and speak with Ororo, the two laughing and smiling together. Well, at least they had gotten over whatever had happened before. 

The first day was exhausting. Jean had shown me the location of my instant goop mix, and making it for myself was easy enough, apparently if you were allergic or didn’t like what was offered there were alternatives like sandwiches or oatmeal. Anyone in the kitchen at the time assumed I didn’t like chicken nuggets and macaroni. Which is utter bullshit, I was seriously envying those people their Kraft and Dino nuggets. Either way, I choked down my healthy bs and reported to Jean, getting a mini-physical, blood sample, and iron pill. There was also a small cup of multi-colored vitamins I choked down, the same circus happening that evening. I finished off all the different juices in the fridge that had my name on it, the last on sitting by my bed as I read the book I’d been handed in ‘English class’ by Scott. The book itself was one I’d already read and enjoyed, The Giver.   
I sat in a comfortable bed as the light faded outside the window, reading one of my old favorites and sipping cold Cranberry-Grape juice. I had no money problems, my mother wasn’t yelling any demands, I had no homework due, no exams to stress over. There was food in my stomach and people who seemed to care for my health. It was entirely too good to be true but the raw possibility that it might not be a facade, that this could be my life...was enough to bring me to tears. I got myself together by the time Anna got in for the night, and still slept better than I had in months.


	3. Chapter 3

The day after my technical ‘first’ day of classes I ate with everyone else, it was a toast and eggs day, though Jean swept in with apple and cinnamon sugar oatmeal for herself, eating beside me and handing me my goop. To all the others it seemed as if she was helping me settle in by eating what I prefered with me. Honestly I was dying for some real food. I would have killed a man for a bacon cheeseburger by that point, but Jean reminded me during my check-up that morning that I still needed to recover and work my way up to anything greasy like that, or even something too solid. If she even  _ suspected  _ I was close to backsliding I’d be in a bed with an IV between fuckin’ heartbeats.

 

Having math first thing in the day would usually suck ass but Ororo taught it. The level was mixed a bit, with several different people working on different things. The class worked in waves, with certain ‘grade levels’ continuing to work on yesterday’s things while she taught a short lesson to others. It was strangely efficient, leaving her to bounce around and give individual attention as it was needed. The problems for my level on the board were beyond what we’d covered before I’d gone off the grid, and I struggled with it as a result. Ororo was kind enough to drop a few hints that lead to breakthroughs, as well as discreetly leaving a sticky note on my desk with a page number from the textbook scrawled on it. Turning to that page revealed example problems. 

 

Biology was taught by the Professor himself, with some of the room doing advanced genetics involving mutations and such, while others were going over simple body systems. It felt a bit demeaning to be handed a box of crayons with everyone else, but the labelling we had to do was hella accurate down to each part of each organ and the name of each bone...and coloring is entertaining, sue me. The only issue was that I hadn’t held a pencil in a while. Doing Algebra was different from attempting to label a diagram neatly. I worked my eraser quite a bit attempting to get the hang of everything again. By the time I was done the labels were a hybrid of cursive and chicken scratch print. 

 

During lunch an older boy with dark hair attempted to ask me what I could ‘do’, looking rather eagerly at me. His own mutation was rather obvious in the webbing between his fingers and bottle of water he carried constantly. Teenagers are different from handling adults, I know with Adults they’re in charge no contest but people my age, all the rules are different. I was a different person at school than I was at home, and it showed in how I didn’t bother to answer, meeting his eyes blankly and starting an impromptu staring contest until he felt awkward and left. After eating my goop, getting more juice, and sitting through my checkup I eased into my English class, book in hand, actually a bit excited for this class. Even if I was behind in everything else I knew this book back to front, the whole series actually. 

 

Just as I sat down the seat beside me filled, a friend of the webbed fingered guy leaning towards me, her eyes a predator yellow. Well, that would be difficult to face in a staring contest. New tactic then. She finished examining me, grinning ferally, throwing enviable curls over her shoulder and revealing stark white sharp teeth. 

 

“So, why are you here then?”

 

A few people twitched in their seats uncomfortably, frowning at her and she stuck her tongue out at one of them.

 

“Oh come on Cynthia, everyone has a reason for being here, and sharing is caring.” She turned back to me, “So, out with it new girl, ya put someone in a coma maybe? Get chased outta town?”

 

I jerked my eyes up from my desk to look at her, wondering what she knew about Sandra, willing to leap over the desk and smack it out of her, but she was side eyeing a girl in the corner of the room who had tensed up, a boy putting a gentle hand on her back that she shrugged off. There was a line of white in that girl’s hair, with long black gloves covering her hands. Yellow eyes was taking pleasure in her discomfort. I don’t hold well with bullies. I cleared my throat, willing it to be less rough it had been lately. Not using it for months gets you a bit croaky after all. There was no luck and I was sounded a bit like a smoker as I ground out,

 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but someone had a plan for me. I didn’t like the plan.”

 

She turned her attention back to me, not actually interested in me, her goal accomplished, but raised an eyebrow anyway, and I saw her noting the southern accent with the slightest of intrigue.

 

“Oh yeah? What was the plan? Hide and be a good girl? Conceal don’t feel?”

 

Was this bitch quoting Frozen at me in her intimidation attempt? You’re gonna have to step up your game, I have a little sister, twat muffin. My utterly unimpressed attitude was likely showing on my face and I turned back to my notebook, deciding she really wasn’t worth my time. I knew where I stood with her now, she was a bully and I didn’t particularly care what she thought because of that. When I didn’t answer she got annoyed, thumping me on the shoulder, 

 

“Hey, I asked you a question, what was the damn plan?”

 

The curse word was inserted with effort, I could tell. Ah, thinks it’ll bring her respect, or make her seem cool. Bad luck for her, everything about her screamed former private school. I was from the American Ghetto’s public school system. Make way bitch, all of my fucks about your opinion are rapidly leaving.

 

When I continued to write down the date in my now more or less improved cursive she grabbed my arm in a bruising grip. So, increased strength was part of her shtick. This was about dominance, I knew, I’d been the new kid in class before. I didn’t react, I’d had worse in the past few months, much worse. Besides, even as she released me the broken capillaries were repairing themselves and the blood trapped under the skin was dissipating. I shook her off absently before looking up, resting my chin in my hand,

 

“An exorcism and a one way trip to a dissection.”

 

She was frowning at me now, slightly angry that she couldn’t goad me into any sort of satisfactory reaction.  _ Pu-lease _ , I’ve had worse from chess club nerds. Scott entered the room shortly after that, and it did wonders for my confidence that I survived a conversation without any sort of public humiliation being lumped on me. Though that didn’t stop yellow eyes from trying trip the girl with white hair in the hallway. I wanted to move on, I didn’t want any attention, I didn’t want any drama, but the curses she said under her breath were familiar, like a breath of fresh air. So I knelt down in a disgustingly hallmark movie moment to help gather her textbooks. 

 

“You from Mississippi?”

 

She looked from me to the notebooks I was trying to hand her with suspicion,

 

“Yeah, I am. What of it?”

 

I shrugged with one shoulder as she took the notebooks.

 

“I’d been livin’ in Mississippi for a while before, well, all  _ this _ .”

 

I motioned around at the mansion in general before smiling up at her, cursing my small height. Breaking all those bones during the tail end of puberty and making them heal overnight hadn’t been good for last minute growth, I’m sure. I ducked out before it could continue on into a full conversation, getting to my next class rather quickly and sitting in my seat to wait patiently for the teacher to get there. The rest of the day was calm enough, though seeing Anna in the halls brought some attention to me when she wished me a rather enthusiastic good morning, despite the fact that it was around four o'clock. 

 

That evening while I ate my goop I went over the notes I’d taken in History, ignoring the shouting and laughter around me. I felt eyes on me and looked up to see Yellow eyes regarding me with a guarded expression. I raised an eyebrow at her before going back to my food. I nearly mentioned her as I went through my checkup with Jean but decided against it. I doubted my fellow Mississippian would appreciate the attention brought to a situation it would seem she was content to ignore. 

 

Before bed I had a sort of PE class, which was heavy on endurance and self defense. Apparently these guys expected some sort of altercation to come to them in the future. A lot of people utilized their abilities during this time and I awkwardly went through exercises with the people whose mutations were relatively useless in a fight.

 

The next week was the same. Surprisingly I found myself falling into a routine. By the time I was able to pick bedding (Grey Jersey T shirt, soft and wonderful) I was allowed to have a few foods other than the goop. It surprised Jean, who had looked to Ororo, the only other person in the room as she tested to blood, and informed the room at large that I was rapidly moving towards normal levels. 

 

“It’s...it’s incredible, I’d assumed that there were would be a few leaps but...this is half of your insides regenerating, recovering from constant breakdown and repair for weeks…”

 

She looked up at me and I just shrugged,

 

“Yeah, I had noticed I was healing faster than usual the more it happened. I took notes each time if you’d like them.”

 

Jean looked like Christmas had come early, 

 

“That would be wonderful. Just bring them along this evening, I’m thinking it may be our last set of daily checkups. We’ll be taking a field trip down the lab again to do a full run on everything, then maybe we’ll move it to once a week.”

 

Everything was going so nicely that I forgot, I forgot that I don’t deserve peace. It was only a dream but the water and screams were enough that when Anna shook me awake I was in tears. I apologized profusely for waking her, but she just looked concerned, crawling into the bed next to me, squishing us in next to one another and changing the subject to something random. I had to tilt my hands away from her, the crescents my nails had cut into my skin smoothing out as she settled into my bed. I was just glad I didn’t heal Time Lord style, all dramatic flashes of light, though equating what I did to the Doctor made me feel a bit better about it. Anna was a godsend, not asking about whatever it was she’d gotten from my head in my sleep, distracting me as best she could, but I could tell she was scared. She was clinging to me as much as I was to her. It was probably horrible, being forced to catch snatches of everyone else’s nightmares as well as her own…

 

After three weeks I’d gotten the hang of ‘dreaming silently’. I’d taken the issue, slightly edited, to Jean, asking how I could have a ‘vibrant’ dream and not wake Anna with it. It involved meditation before sleep and trying to keep my heartrate to even out quickly once I woke, and before I slept. It was also by that time that I had realized something. No one else was the same brand of fucked up as me. Of course there were people who had it worse, being fucking blue or something, severity ranged dramatically, but the same  _ type _ was nowhere to be found. I woke from a dream of home, curling in on myself, sighing with relief when I noted that Anna was silent, breathing evenly and facing away from me. I lay on my back staring at the dark ceiling and thinking over what my mother had told me in the dream, and how it matched what she’d told Dad before I had left. 

 

They were right. My very existence was wrong. More so than  _ just _ being a mutant, I was just all wrong. What I could do...it didn’t belong to humans. That much was obvious, there wasn’t anyone else my special brand of wrong. These people were  _ nice _ , they were  _ normal people _ under what they could do, but none of those guys were abominations like me. None of them were crimes against Christianity itself. At least they didn’t trespass in the realm of god and his prophets. No wonder Mom hated me. Maybe...maybe if I admitted it she would take me back. I’d have to sit through useless exorcisms and constantly being reminded of how desperately wrong and evil my very being was, but I would be  _ trying  _ to make it right at least, surely that counted for something? 

 

I was able to get back to sleep eventually, after calming down, still mostly unsure about what to do. The other shoe had never dropped, so there wasn’t a single reason for me to mistrust these people still, other than principle. The next morning at my now claimed shower time I was up before most everyone else, wandering into the kitchen and sitting at the island after I ate, reading a book while I drank my juice. I was allowed to have cereal now, though only the healthy shit that Jean had already approved. I gazed longingly at some cookie crisps before settling for my wheatie shit, washing up when I was done.

 

It was quite a bit later when Anna found me, looking vaguely guilty, holding herself as if she was afraid, fleeing the moment her message was given.

 

“Ororo wants to see you in her office.”

 

Well, this could very well be the other shoe dropping. I’d thought Anna had noticed me charging my iPod, though I’d tried to keep it covered with dirty clothes, or hide the outlet with my bag. I couldn’t be sure if I would be allowed to keep it. Ninth grade in English we’d all had to read  _ Three Little Words _ , in foster care possessions could be taken and spread around to keep things fair, I’d assumed that something like an iPod wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the hands of just one person. I could get that jealousy was a thing, and that it  _ was  _ a bit unfair, but this thing had pictures of my sister on it, her favorite playlists still named those ridiculous phrases. I walked into Ororo’s office for the second time in my life, the first being to ask about some homework, ready to deny ownership till I turned blue. 

 

The fight went out of me the moment our eyes met. She looked...sad. Not angry, or disappointed like I’d expected, just...a bit mournful. With a delicate motion she indicated a chair, which I sank into hesitantly. Before I could get up the courage to ask what the hell was going on she spoke, 

 

“Anna says that you’re feeling a bit...homesick, in a way.”

 

Oh. Well, cat’s out of  _ that _ particular bag. It was as I examined her face and how it looked like she felt that it hit me. This was probably why I was with Anna in the first place. I came in hurt and timid, they needed someone to keep an eye on me. I wondered if they always paired new people with those that had Anna’s talents, I didn’t think there were that many of them. I wanted to be angry, but mostly I was a bit impressed, that was sound strategy. 

 

Seeing that she actually wanted a response I shrugged one shoulder, looking longingly in the direction of the door. This was likely to be awkward, and I would rather be anywhere but here. But Ororo was determined to have this conversation. 

 

“Nina, you know you can talk to me, about  _ anything _ . It...Anna was frightened, she’s never felt such a level of self-loathing. Part of my job as your advisor is to help you adjust to a different way of life, to help you learn to love yourself and all that you are. I hadn’t even realized how badly I was failing at that. Let me help you.”

 

Seeing no other option to get this to end as quickly as humanly possible I nodded. She looked relieved, sitting forwards, 

 

“What can I help you with? Any issue, any worry, I’ll help you find an answer, a solution.”

 

It came out before I could really come up with something.

 

“I’m alone.”

 

She shook her head emphatically, the white strands bouncing slightly at the motion,

 

“You aren’t, we’re all here for you,  _ I’m _ here for you, Jean, the Professor, Scott, Anna, we all care.”

 

I quirked a small smile, 

“That’s not what I meant. I just...I’m the only one quite as  _ wrong _ as I am.”

 

The response was automatic, knee-jerk. 

 

“There’s nothing wrong with you. What do you mean?”

 

I motioned wildly with my arms, looking away from her and avoiding the awkward eye contact. 

 

“My mom put it best, it’s, it’s against everything God intended, anything everyone else is doing could be witchcraft, not necessarily against Him but kind of frowned on generally, yeah. But what I do is in direct contrast to that, and it’s  _ just  _ me. No one else that I’ve found here is that brand of wrong.”

 

Storm looked slightly uncomfortable at any mention of religion, and now was no exception. I wondered about the story behind that but knew better than to ask. By the time I had finished speaking she’d stood, walking around the desk and sitting in the chair beside me instead. She took my hands gently the stark contrast catching my eye before she spoke, causing me to look up.

 

“Nina you  _ aren’t _ alone, there  _ are _ others like you.”

 

The snark was out before I could stop it,

 

“Then where are they?” I cringed immediately, wishing I could just swallow my tongue. But she didn’t seem bothered, instead smiling crookedly. 

 

“Jean actually found a rather close match in how the mutation formed, there’s someone with your abilities here, a teacher actually.”

 

My first thought was Scott, or Jean, but she continued, glancing at a calendar,

 

“He’s not here at the moment, he’s been off on personal business for a while, but when he’s back you’ll see him around.”

 

Learning that threw me for a loop, and I was unable to think of much else other than not being alone. If there was more than one, could we really be wrong? After all, the stupid as hell pamphlet Ororo gave me said something along the lines of ‘God makes no mistakes’. It was a tough pill to swallow, but somehow knowing that the mistake had been made more than once improved my look on life just a little bit. At least I wasn’t alone. It was a selfish thought, but it was there all the same. 

 

After that I spent more time out of the room, after I had successfully assured Anna that I wasn’t angry, and that good had come of it. But the fact was I couldn’t trust her enough to do any sort of deep thinking in her presence. Because honestly, who the hell can contemplate the nature of their existence and not feel a sense of heightened emotion? Nobody, that’s fuckin’ who. So instead I either practiced my clarinet in one of the tiny rooms used for solo practice or would take a book from the library and plug in my headphones somewhere random. It turns out a few people had mp3 sort of things, usually as birthday gifts from their advisors or the Professor himself. Mine was mostly ignored, though yellow eyes, whose name is apparently Elizabeth, tried to get snippy. Jean put that to a stop rather quickly, which I was disappointed about, I didn’t even get to use all of the lovely insults I’d concocted.

 

Christmas passed in a rather awkward, to me, exchange of gifts and family traditions. Soon spring was coming on full force. We were in a rainy lull one evening when I took a book out to the garden. I had a favorite bench out there, further from the clumps of others and on its own. Made of stone and with a wide tree growing behind it I was separate from others and had something to lean on. I sensed them coming before I saw them, a large group approaching, with one trailing a bit behind the others. They stopped in front of me, against  _ all  _ of my mental urging that they pass me by and be heading for someone else, Anna snapping her fingers in front of me to get my attention. I sighed loudly before lowering my book, one of the earlier Clive Cussler novels, and meeting her eyes, raising an eyebrow.

  
  


“Yes, Anna darlin’?”

  
She was one of those that found my accent ‘charming’ and ‘adorable’, rather than assuming my IQ was at least thirty points lower than average because of where I was from. So I didn’t bother curbing it around her. She appreciated the gesture each time, beaming at me, 

 

“We’re getting a ride into town, Jean decided we need a girls day out, try on some clothes, do some spring shopping.”

 

I grimaced,

 

“Anna, I love ya hun, I do, but I honest to  _ God _ would rather gnaw off my right arm.”

 

She huffed,

 

“You could have just said no.”

 

“Then no.”

 

She sighed, shaking her head,

 

“What am I going to do with you. All you wear is black and flannel, Morgan was thinking you might be a lesbian and getting excited.”

 

I rolled my eyes, bringing my book back up to chest level and dismissing her.

 

“You know I have no preferences whatsoever.”

 

“So, you’re half lesbian?”

 

“...let me re-phrase, my preference is no.”

 

She groaned, running a hand through her hair in frustration,

 

“I know, but seriously, you couldn’t just pretend to make her happy?”

 

“...I’d think that would be cruel.”

 

“True...anyway, I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

 

She walked away and I thought that was that. But from the corner of my eye I saw one of the figures from the group branch off and occupy the place on the bench beside me, casting me into shadow and blocking my good light. Annoyed I twitched slightly, resisting slapping them.

 

“I told you already, I don’t want a girls day trying on clothes.”

 

A deeper, rougher, voice than I’d expected answered,

 

“Well that’s good, I’d look a bit strange wearing a dress.”

 

I jumped, seeing an older man, thick hair, stubble on his face. He was smiling slightly at his own joke, wearing stained jeans, work boots, and a red plaid shirt that I was strangely sure I had a smaller version of in my closet. Ignoring his outfit I resisted scooting away from him, instead clearing my throat,

 

“Um, hello.”

 

“Hello. Storm said I might find you out here.”

 

Storm? Who even called Ororo-ah.

 

“Oh, you’re one of those ‘X-men’, aren’t you?”

 

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face,

 

“It’s  _ such _ a stupid name…”

 

I shrugged with one shoulder, unable to stop myself from speaking.

 

“Definitely, I thought it meant a flock of transgenders at first.”

 

I wanted to rip my tongue out and then hide under a rock but he laughed, slapping me roughly on the back,

 

“I hadn’t thought of that yet, good one kid. Maybe you  _ aren’t _ hopeless.”

 

I was sure my eyebrow twitched, wondering who told him I was hopeless but knowing better than to ask. He seemed to sense my hesitance and bit back comment, raising an eyebrow,

 

“Well, out with it kid, no holdin’ back.”

 

“Who are you, again?”

 

He hadn’t actually mentioned it yet, and I was well aware of that, but I was trying to be gentle with the rebuke, adults can be so vicious about questions of their authority and place in the hierarchy in the conversation. He held out a calloused hand,

 

“Logan.”

 

I took his hand, noting that he shook it rather gently for someone of his size and build. Probably thought he’d break me. Jokes on him, I’d just get better. 

 

“Nina. Not that I’m complaining, but any reason for Ororo to be sending you my way?”

 

From the bench to his other side he held something up and the blood drained out of my face. The purple notebook, the one I’d logged all of my instances of ‘freakishness’ in. I’d given it to Jean, what the hell was this fucker doing with it? Before I could lose my temper and actually demand to know something he handed it over.

 

“Jean wanted me to talk to you. No idea why, it’s not like with others, there’s nothing to really control with this.”

 

It clicked for me then, who he was.

 

“You’re the one Ororo said was like me.”

 

He tilted his head, grimacing and waving his hand in a way that indicated ‘meh’.

 

“In a way.” He pointed to the notebook, “I’ll have you know half of that nearly had Jean in tears. I think she played an accidental drinking game with it, a shot of whiskey for each broken bone, tequila for lacerations, straight vodka for starvation.”

 

I snorted, the image of Jean downing that much alcohol not computing. It was probably his aim here. Definitely not one of the usual kind for teachers. He seemed to get that that teens had no mind to mouth filters, so not using one around them was advantageous. That or he just didn’t have that filter either. 

 

“I can’t imagine Jean that plastered.” 

 

He nodded sagely,

 

“Now that I think of it, she was probably still a bit out of it when she thought sending me your way was a good idea.”

 

As always I attempted to weigh what I was saying before actually speaking it to someone in a position of authority. And being one of those ‘X-men’ definitely counted for hella hierarchy points.

 

“Well...she and Ororo, and most everyone I suppose, are under the impression that I need to...lighten up. Or something.” 

 

He could only stare at me incredulously for a few seconds,

 

“Even Boy Scout? Ah, Scott?”

 

I scowled before nodding and he whistled,

 

“Damn. Well, he won’t be thrilled that I was the one attempting to influence you...so I’m going to give some advice.” 

 

I snickered and he grinned at me, tilting his head to indicate the man in question looking through a window at us, his arms crossed. I couldn’t see his expression from this distance, but it probably wasn’t pleased. I turned back to Logan as he began speaking, giving what he said some serious thought,

 

“Don’t give a shit what anyone tells you. They don’t like you, they can go fuck themselves. Don’t take shit from people. Constructive criticism can be welcomed, but when they try to beat you down, don’t take it. Someone hits you, you hit back. Jean mentioned you were a bit of a rug.”

 

I wanted to wince but it was true, at least if it involved people who were too much older, so I just shrugged. He rolled his eyes,

 

“See, this is exactly what I mean, throw up a bit of protest or something.”

 

_ I don’t think you understand how much I can’t do that _ . I frowned at him,

 

“I just said no to someone, that’s new, but I’m saying it.”

 

He sighed heavily,

 

“Well, I guess it’s  _ something _ . I’ll be teaching the self defense classes from now on, so I’ll be making sure you get a bit more confrontational.”

 

He glanced over at the window where Scott was still blatantly watching, and Logan scowled, pulling out a box of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. Scott shook his head, and I resisted the urge to laugh as Logan grimaced. Then, his face changed and he looked over at me, grinning.

 

“You have the healing factor.”

 

I raised an eyebrow before holding up the purple notebook,

 

“Bones in under a night.” 

And getting quicker, actually, though the rate of increase was slower than before, now that I wasn’t constantly faced with horrible conditions. The whole ‘starving each night’ thing had really punched it forwards once I got everything back in order.

 

Logan beamed at me,

 

“Then it won’t matter if you ever actually need this, wonderful. I’m going to push a few of Boy Scout’s buttons. Here, while he’s looking, take this.”

 

He opened the box and pulled out one that was different from the rest, turned the opposite direction. 

 

“It’s called a lucky, you know the concept?”

  
I nodded, staring at it as if it were a snake, all those anti-drug lectures my mother had given me every time someone on tv had so much as looked at a cigarette or bought a drink at a bar were floating through my head. 

 

“Started in war, soldiers would smoke about a pack a day. They’d turn one over at the beginning of the day and call it the lucky because if they smoked it that night it meant they had lived through the day.”

 

“Exactly, it’s an honor, you know. So save it for when you actually need some luck.” 

 

I glanced from it to him, then back.

 

“You know, you are  _ exactly _ the kind of person my mother told me to avoid.”

 

It was said absently, but when I noticed him drawing his hand back I took the ‘lucky’, an impulse decision. He was right, it was an honor. I’m not going to be rude and refuse it. Plus, the fuck did my mom ever get right, anyway? Hoarding plastic bags inside of other plastic bags? That was about it. I looked the cigarette over critically and he laughed, 

 

“For the record, your mom would be right. But also for the record, I wouldn’t go around handing out cigarettes to kids normally. They’d die of lung cancer and get addicted. Us, we actually  _ can _ quit whenever we like. No addictions forming without that healing factor wiping it away, cancer just unravels before the tumors can really get going. Nothing grows like that.”

I pouted visibly, tucking the cigarette away in the breast pocket of my black shirt,

 

“I noticed, I’m still five foot even.”

 

He chuckled at my expression, unable to respond because in the distance we could see Scott storming towards us. The man looked  _ furious _ and I was suddenly guilty for being an accomplice in ‘pushing his buttons’. Logan nudged me and I looked at him, noting the look he was giving me.

 

“None of that, remember, not a rug.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“And don’t apologize.”

 

“So-right.”

The closer Scott came the more I wanted to flee. Logan noticed, sighing.

 

“Go on kid, I’ll handle it. But next time no running!”

 

I nodded vigorously, grabbing my notebook and novel, making a break for it, going the long way to avoid Scott. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. 

 

After dinner that night I was sitting on the right end side of one of the couches in the sitting room nearest the kitchen on the ground floor, reading that same novel as earlier because everyone and their mother seemed to interrupt me while I was trying to read it. The book disappeared from my hands,my scowl faded and I paled when my eyes met red lenses. He snapped the book shut and I mentally protested, he couldn’t have let me bookmark it first? Rude. He held a hand out in front of him,

 

“Hand it over.”

 

I  _ really _ didn’t want to do that. It had meant something to Logan, and now it meant something to me. A gift, the first one I’d gotten in awhile, although it was the strangest. It was also the sign I had that I was breaking free of some of the stupid shit my mother had pounded into my head. Though addiction and cancer are real problems for normal people. It was more symbolic than anything.

 

“Hand over what?”

  
“You know what I mean, young lady.”

 

It was the last phrase that did it. It reminded me of how my mother berated me for even the smallest of things...And what did I have that was telling me to not let that stand anymore? I made a decision, gathering all the courage I had in my small body.

 

“Haven’t you ever read “Fault in our Stars”?”

 

He gave me a blank look and I tried my best to keep that spike of courage going.

 

“Well neither have I, but my little sister forced me through the movie. What I’m getting at here is the quote, ‘It's a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing’. You gonna take away my metaphor?”

 

He looked a bit unsure now, probably wondering if that had been Logan’s intention. Not a chance, but he was off balance, so I stood, taking my book back and nodding to him.

 

“I’m going to take my metaphor and go now.”

 

I escaped quickly to my room, purposefully taking a strange route to get there so he couldn’t cut me off. Once I was inside I sunk to the ground and leaned my back against the door, shaking my head at the questioning look Anna sent me as she folded her new clothes.

 

“You don’t wanna know.”

 

The next morning Scott didn’t mention it, though he did glare at Logan when he came in for breakfast. A bowl of what looked like oatmeal was set down in front of me, one whiff of it and I knew it was the ‘goop’. I grimaced, looking up at Jean pleadingly.

 

“I thought I was done with this?”

 

She shook her head, smiling gently,

 

“Nope, sorry. Still need a few more of servings of it every now and then.”

 

I scowled down at the stuff, gazing longingly at the bacon while I choked it down. But the feeling of that burning, and itching, the dying and recovering, it was too fresh to turn down any sort of food and not completely clear the bowl. I swung through the kitchen to grab a bottle of the fruit juice that I was rather glad I was still allowed to carry everywhere, I quite liked having a drink handy, only to find the girl from Mississippi beaming at Logan, him rolling his eyes at something she said while looking through the fridge.

 

Logan saw me and nodded,

 

“Morning, you give into Boy Scout yesterday?”

 

It was a bit of a loaded question, if I gave in not only would I have ignored his advice then I would have sullied a gift given in good faith. Or maybe he was just plain curious. Either way I shook my head proudly, patting the left breast pocket of my blue flannel shirt that hung open over a black tank top. 

 

“Nope. Pulled some bullshit from a John Greene novel to confuse him.”

 

He grinned, reaching into the fridge and tossing something at me.

 

“Good kid.”

 

I caught it, proud of myself for managing it, and looked over it to find one of my bottles of apple juice. Logan spoke and I looked up to see him motioning at it, the girl paying close attention to us from the corner of the kitchen,

 

“You still on a pretty strict diet? Saw Jean feeding you that gruel nonsense.”

 

I shrugged,

 

“I call it ‘The Goop’. And not really, just, every now and then. But she still won’t let me have soda.”

 

I nodded awkwardly to the girl in the corner before edging out of the room,

 

“Well, lovely to see you, places to be, tests to fail.”

 

I escaped before the girl could ask, and hoped that Logan knew we weren’t letting any of the students find out about my starvation mishap. It would be embarrassing, something else for yellow eyes (Elizabeth, I reminded myself) to tease me over. I could imagine it now, ‘can’t even feed herself without being told to’...

 

I felt the girl’s eyes on me throughout the day, though she was a few years older, so she sat in a different corner of each classroom. When Ororo dismissed us I made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape her, being  _ really  _ not in the mood to fend off questions of what he’d meant about my stricter diet. But she managed to get in front of me somehow and I wondered, not for the first time, what the hell her mutation actually was.

 

“So how do you know Logan?”

 

Right to the point, but at least it was a different point than the one I’d been dreading.

 

“Um, Jean want’s him to teach me how not to be a rug.”

She laughed, startled, 

  
“Well, he’s a good person for the job, I suppose.”

 

She was examining me again, and I fidgeted nervously, unsure what I could do to keep her from asking more as we walked silently to our next class. As it turned out fidgeting was the right move. On instinct I had brought my braid over my shoulder to fiddle with the end of it, which inevitably drew her eyes, which lit up.

 

“It’s so pretty! You always have so many different styles, I can barely manage a ponytail!”

 

She was looking at it enviously, tilting her head, and examining the way the strands the folded together. I cleared my throat self-consciously,

 

“It’s just a fishtail braid today. Though yesterday was Dutch.”

 

She nodded absently at the names, hand twitching but instead going to her own poker straight hair, fiddling with the white strand near the front.

 

“Where’d you learn how to do it? Your momma teach you?”

 

I felt a twinge in my heart at the mention of my Mother, pushing her out of my thoughts completely and shaking my head emphatically,

 

“Hell no, she wasn’t a fan of anything like that, her hair was even thicker than mine, it just didn’t work out. Even with mine being a bit more manageable I still have to braid it while it’s wet. No, my little sister wanted to learn so she googled it and used me as a test dummy. When she wanted to know how it looked on herself I did it for her, and we learned that way. Now,  _ her _ hair was much better suited to any of the pretty stuff, all fine and silky smooth. It was ridiculous, I mean, we used the same shampoo and conditioner.”

 

The girl nodded her head sadly,

 

“I know what you mean, my momma’s hair was unruly too, she alway told me to thank my lucky stars that I got my grama’s hair instead.”

 

With one last considering look she finally gave me a sweet, genuine smile.

  
  


“I’m called Rogue. Though, I suppose you could call me Marie, if you’d like.”

  
Damn, she must be hella badass to have one of those x-men style names already, and to know Logan personally...well, no wonder only Yellow Eyes (Elizabeth!) was stupid enough to fuck with her.

 

I stuck a hand out,

 

“I’m Nina, you can call me Nina. No fancy nickname for it, no possible way to get it any shorter, either.”

 

She stared at my hand for a good long while before taking it gently, shaking quickly, and letting it go. It was that and the constant presence of the gloves that made me think her power transmitted through touch. Well, asking about the gloves to lighten the mood was definitely out. I searched for something, anything else.

 

“I could teach you, if you’d like.”

 

She started, looking up from where she had been watching her feet as we made our way down the stairs to the next classroom. “What?”

 

I clarified,

 

“To braid. I could teach you how to do one, maybe even a few.”

 

I felt vulnerable, offering like this. But if I was going to grow out of the little sheep my mother had crafted then making a friend, or an acquaintance at least, was going to have to be my starting point. Or the first step beyond carrying around the Lucky, at least.

 

For a moment I thought she was going to refuse, curling in on myself and resolving to never leave my room again, but she nodded, beaming down at me,

 

“I’d like that.”

 

I was riding on the high of having a new ‘friend’ during class, and afterwards when she sat with me for lunch, her boyfriend, who was apparently ‘Bobby’, sitting down beside her. I was thrilled with the development, though Yellow Eyes (Elizi-fuck it, I give up) seemed to be taking it as an unholy union that was a direct offense to her personally. Well, it’s not like this place could be completely without inner conflict, it was stuffed with teenagers after all. But still, I wasn’t expecting her to trip me down a flight of stairs. Even she looked surprised, running off when I started to fall down them rather than just stumble and fall on my face. She’d probably been meaning to push me and say mean shit, but I stepped at the wrong moment.

 

I was glad that no one was there to see it, spine sliding agonizingly back into place, bones creaking and setting. I would be sore for days, but there were no breaks, just cracks, dislocations, and sprains. Those were gone after a few hours of laying down and a snack. Her relieved/mystified expression at finding me perfectly fine at dinner was amusing enough that I refrained from saying anything about it to anyone. No harm done, after all. Well, it got better pretty quickly at least. Besides, she was sorry for it, realizing how close she had come to serious trouble in the form of a murder charge. I considered mentioning it to Marie, but remembered at the last second she wasn’t aware of what I did. Seeing as she avoided mentioning her own capabilities venomously I figured she was like me, or like I had been, still was really. Utterly ashamed of mutation in general and deciding to ignore it for the most part. Having Marie there helped me to not give in to people as easily, though I was still likely to hop to it if a teacher gave an order. Honestly it was Logan’s presence in one of the sitting rooms, arguing with Scott about a ‘bike’ or something, that allowed me to make a rather definitive move.

 

I sat in the same place on the couch, every time. The right hand side with an end table and a coaster, so I could easily reach my juice, and an outlet in case I needed to charge my iPod. The iPod wasn’t there this time, so I clearly heard the usual throat clearing.

 

“Hey new kid, that’s my seat. Shoo.”

 

I looked up slowly, reassured by the mere presence of my ‘Don’t-Be-A-Rug’ tutor. The kid facing me was one of the twenty-something year olds who were going to college nearby and stayed here on the weekends, accustomed to calling this place home. His age, ‘adult’, had spurred me to silently gather my things and leave every day before now. At nearing several months of it I was going to take a stand. I didn’t put the book down, instead cocking my head slightly, taking in his confusion in that I hadn’t moved yet.

 

“I should think that I’m not technically the ‘new kid’, by this point.”

 

He blinked slowly before frowning,

 

“Well, we still don’t know your name, soooo, new kid still. Now, shoo.”

 

I didn’t move, staring him down, though inside I was screaming a constant note of embarrassed anguish.

 

“My name’s Nina, now you know it. Goodbye.”

 

He then inserted his hand between my face and book, grabbing the book and moving to take it away, that inner voice stopped screaming, instead getting right on board.  _ He fucking did not just.  _ I ripped the book out of his hands, smacking him in the shoulder with it, scowling.

 

“Don’t touch my things. I’m not moving, so just go fuck yourself. Preferably with a cactus.”

 

Logan nearly snorted his drink, choking a bit as he snickered, Scott looking affronted from the corner of my eye.

 

The twenty-something left, deciding I wasn’t worth it, the seat either. I saw him settling down to play Mario Kart and counted it as a win. That declaration seemed a bit premature when Scott marched up, frowning and arms crossed. 

 

“Was that really necessary Nina?”

 

I stood my ground, scowling right back at him through the sudden doubt that plagued me.

 

“Yeah. He makes me move every time. There are plenty of other places to sit.”

 

“You’re right, there  _ are _ plenty of other places to sit. There was no need to be rude about it, you could easily have chosen another seat and let that go without conflict.”

 

I was sinking on myself, figuring he was right and dying a bit of embarrassment, inner voice screaming ‘I told you so’s’.  _ Jesus, I can’t even stand up for myself correctly. Can’t do  _ **_anything_ ** _ right… _

 

Logan, however, was turning red. He smacked Scott none too lightly on the back of the head, scowling.

 

“Stop that, all of my good work, ruined.” He flopped down on the couch next to me, still glaring at Scott, “Don’t listen to him kid, the Boy Scout is  _ also  _ a rug. An expert on rugs, practically a Persian. Or worse, French.” I smiled weakly and he noticed, pulling a box out of his pocket, and handing me yet another cigarette, another lucky, I noticed. Scott spluttered as I tucked it into my shirt pocket right next to the the other one. 

 

I went back to my book as Logan left, relocating his argument mainly because Scott followed him just to continue it. I grinned to myself, noting that he was using positive/negative reinforcement. Giving me something to tell me ‘good girl’, and annoying Scott every time he said something that counteracted what Logan told me. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking it through that deeply, and was doing it  _ solely  _ to irritate Scott. Either way, I appreciated it. 

 

The next day I figured out why Scott said no one wanted laundry duty. It was a mash of sweat, feathers, scales, nearly anything you could think of. Laundry duty was hell. Having previously been on dish duty I was unaware of the war fought in the laundry room every evening and I found my way onto another roster rather quickly. Helping take care of the younger children on Saturdays couldn’t be that bad.

 

***

 

I was wrong. The kids were cute, but overall a bit rambunctious. Most were here because their parents were dicks that had either given them up or mistreated them once their mutation showed itself. There were only a handful that visited, called, loved their children but didn’t understand, instead tusting Xavier's School as sort of a super qualified speciality day care/boarding school. Seeing as I was an older sibling, but not by enough years to be able to handle the  _ super _ tiny kids, I was given a bunch of toddlers to wrangle. I had bonded with most of them, my personal favorite being Kathy, blue skin and webbed fingers contrasting beautifully with the bright red hair that I remembered seeing on a different little girl. 

 

It felt dirty being reminded of Sandra by Kathy, like I was trying to replace her, or use a surrogate, but they were so different, even from when Sandra was this age, that it was easy enough to get over. I was ‘helping’ Kathy color in nature scenes, bypassing bodies of water and heading to the forest scenes, reminded of the good parts of what used to be ‘home’, coloring the shades of green as best I could remember. Kathy was confiding not so quietly that she thought she should have been allowed to stay up later the night before to see the new episode of her show on Disney, something about a popular singer that played a school girl/spy combo.

 

“I’m practically a grown up, after all! I’ll be  _ six _ in two months!”

 

I nodded sagely, “Well, I suppose that should be taken into consideration. But…”

 

“What, what, tell me, tell me!”

 

She tugged on my shirt, cheeks puffing out inhumanely, eyes wide, overall striking an adorable picture. It was moments like this that I just  _ knew _ that not all mutants were monsters. 

 

I laughed, falling back a bit,

 

“I recorded it for you! We have Dish and I have that privilege, after all.”

 

Barely. It was over fifteen that you got one slot a week to record a show, over eighteen and you got two. I’m assuming that teachers get unlimited, but they have televisions and dish boxes in their own rooms, most likely. Either way since I’d managed to see the Supernatural episode for this week live I didn’t need the slot. She screeched in victory, jumping up and throwing her hands over her head,

 

“Let’s Goooooooo!”

 

She streaked across the room to the television area, where the youngest group was watching something ‘educational’, I’m sure. I launched myself up and stumbled after her, barely catching her around the waist and swinging her away before she could interrupt them. Dillon in particular had a bad habit of causing a very literal flood when Micky Mouse or any of his cartoon brethren disappeared off the screen unexpectedly. 

 

“Whoa there, we can’t just take over. Gotta wait our turn.”

 

She looked up at me, eyes wide and brimming with tears,

 

“But how  _ looooong _ ?”

 

I quickly gauged how awake the current crowd was before guesstimating,

 

“Twenty minutes maybe?”

 

When her lip started to tremble I ran my fingers through her hair gently, 

 

“Come on now, it’s better than not seeing it at all, right? We’ll just watch this with them and finish our pictures, alright? It’ll pass in no time.”

 

She calmed down enough to run and get our pages, as well as the deluxe box of crayons we were sharing that Sandra would've killed to have. She was a killer artist, and I couldn’t help but think of the intricate drawing that was my current iPod lock screen, a fox playing with a dog, a kitten struggling to keep up. I was absently adding more yellow to the background of my little forest when I felt a tug on my braid, as well as Sierra, my fellow helper, give a horrified gasp from across the room.

 

“Um, Nina? Don’t move.”

 

That was the  _ exact _ wrong thing to say, because now I was certain that my hair had been set on fire by a too-tired toddler. I was wrong, but it was just as bad in the end. Ralph’s fangs were giving him issues, and he had a special whatever that he chewed on constantly. This ‘whatever’ happened to be very sticky and impossible to get out of hair. Ororo cooed gently as she took scissors to the mess, calming me down and trying to ease the near tears. I’d never gotten a haircut without Sandra, and I had been planning on keeping with the tradition, no matter how ridiculous it got.

 

“My hair used to be as long as yours, you know. But it became a  risk, so I did this to it. It won’t be so bad, your head will feel lighter, showers won’t take as long. It’ll be okay.”

 

The end product was meant to be shoulder length, but the mess of curls and waves caused it to halo in a mess at the upper middle half of my neck. Now braiding it was impossible. I often caught myself reaching for the end of the braid to worry and coming up with air, or the sheared ends. Asking Jean why it wasn’t coming back got me a sympathetic, but uncomforting, answer.

 

“Hair is dead tissue, there’s nothing living to reconstruct. Don’t worry, it’ll grow back in time.”

 

Seeing Marie get frustrated with hers during an evening meal had me near tears missing my hair, and after we ate I cornered her, 

 

“Could I...could I braid your hair?”

  
She looked surprised, and a bit wary as well, but gave in when she saw my expression and how I toyed with the ends of my hair.

 

“I suppose. But be  _ very _ careful, don’t touch my scalp. It’ll, ah, shock you.”

 

Electricity then, neato I guess. I wondered if she could charge a cell phone with her fingers but shrugged it off, instead taking the comb she’d gotten out of her bag and carefully running it through her hair. The first time my bare fingers touched her scalp it  _ was _ a bit of an electric shock. She didn’t notice, too enamored in having someone play with her hair in what was probably the first time since her mutation activated. I managed to remove my fingers quickly, shaking it off easily enough. The second time it happened I felt ill, rather than ‘electrocuted’, same with the third and fourth. It was then that I realized that the ‘shock’ had likely been a placebo effect of being told that I would be, but then the real sensation had poked through. I was rather curious what was really happening, but so long as I removed my fingers quickly I recovered nicely. I suppose that anyone else likely wouldn’t have been able to manage this, other than Logan, and I didn’t see him learning to braid hair any time soon. I snorted at the thought, breaking Marie out of her bliss, causing her to semi-turn in my direction,

 

“What?”

  
“Oh, just thinking of Logan trying to learn to braid hair.”

 

There was a beat of silence and then we were both breaking into giggles. Eventually I got her hair done in a french braid, letting her look at it with a small handheld mirror. 

Several days later I convinced her to join the Toddler Brigade with me, and used Kathy as a test dummy to show her how it was done. The girl quite happily continued to dance her dolls around and be our test dummy, humming all the while. Marie was rather nervous around the kids, but they adored her, loving her accent just as much as mine, when I deigned to let it poke through at least. So despite my loss I was relatively happy, reading in the sitting room one day with Marie working through some homework on the couch beside me while some kids sat at one of the computer terminals and looked through news reports all over the country for some project I was glad I didn’t have to do. Ew, group work. They were kind of hard to ignore, and I found myself paying attention to each case they pointed out, one in particular catching my attention with a rush of fear.

 

“Dude, look here, some girl hit her head and fell in a lake, almost died. Ended up in a really long coma.”

 

My book dropped lower and I waited with dread for her runaway mutant sister to be mentioned, but it was oh so much worse than that.

 

“Yeah, it says that they did more blood tests and found that she had a possibly active x gene, the parents pulled the plug on her.”

 

“Jeez, poor kid. What was her name?”

 

“Ahhh, Cassandra Hooper.”

 

I could have sworn that the world stopped turning, I didn’t realize my book had hit the floor until Marie put a gloved hand on my shoulder. I leapt away, breathing hard and trying to figure out why the walls were closing in. SandraSandraSandra, they  _ wouldn’t _ , would they? Just...give up on her because there was the minute possibility that she could be like me? Surely they would realize if she were truly like me then she would have woken up! I felt ill and ran from the room, not caring who I ran into in my wild flight, just going and going through the halls,  _ needing  _ to find somewhere that I could  _ breathe _ .

 

In the end I found it, the spacious gym area devoid of people. Most were doing homework or eating, there was no one really on this floor. I paced the room, trying to get my breathing under control, desperate not to cry. She  _ couldn’t _ be dead, she  _ couldn’t _ , not my little sister, not her. How _ could _ they- desperate for some outlet I whirled around the room, finding the closest punching bag and launching myself in that direction, hand cocking back and taking a swing. Some part of my brain told me that I’d probably break my hand on the tough sandbag, but I didn’t care. I would welcome the pain by this point. 

 

My hand did  _ not _ break, and to my utter surprise there was give, the bag moving away instead, with more force then I’d thought possible. It shocked me out of my state of near fury, waiting for it to quit swinging wildly so I could give it a light push. Now it didn’t move and I stared up at the label for the weight proudly displayed on the side. I heard a loud sigh from the doorway and jumped, back hitting the bag as I whirled, the thing not giving an inch.

 

Logan stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of a beat up leather jacket. He walked over to where the gymnastics mats were stacked, sitting on top of them and patting the space beside him.

 

“Sit down, kid.”

 

After a second I obliged, lifting myself up to the place he indicated, my feet swinging high above the floor. There was a moment of silence and I lost patience.

 

“I...I’m not sure what happened.”

 

He shrugged with one shoulder, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye before going back to examining the bag that I’d abandoned.

 

“Nothin’ much to tell. In usual experience regeneration, or ‘healing factor’, as they call it, doesn’t come alone. Usually it’s more of a side effect. We’d been wondering when anything else would show. This looks like some cell regeneration enhancing already there shit.”

 

“...and you didn’t think to mention it?”

  
He gave me a bemused look,

 

“What, and have you worryin’ and freakin’ out over it? Naw, we weren’t even sure if there  _ would _ be anything else in your case, the healing factor seemed so well developed on it’s own we’d more or less given up.”

 

When I didn’t say anything else he continued,

 

“Scott was right, though, damn him. More like me than we thought, though not exactly the same, thank god. You’ve just got a bit of extra oomph to the senses and reflexes, a bit of a boost on strength when you really get into it. You’ll learn how to control it, bring it out when you need it.”

 

Great,  _ more _ freakishness. Before I could really get into a good sulk over it he nudged me,

 

“Not that I’m ever one to encourage huggy feel time moments, but whatever it was that set you off, talking about it will help. Usually.”

 

I fiddled with my fingers, not looking at him. When he didn’t give up and leave, or awkwardly retract the statement of implying he was willing to listen I shrugged one shoulder.

 

“Sandra was my younger sister’s name. She...it all started when we convinced our mom to take us to the lake, for a picnic. Eat food, maybe fish a bit, Sandra wanted to tan some. It was there that I encountered stress enough to activate my x gene, kick off my mutation for the first time.”

 

I continued to twist my fingers in my lap as I thought of how to phrase it, get it out as quickly as possible.

 

“Mom hadn’t grown up in the same place we did, she was a horrible swimmer, so she insisted that we keep out of the water when dad wasn’t there, just to be safe. She didn’t like admitting her own faults, so that was never the reason she gave Sandra for why she couldn’t go swimming. Sandra...well, she didn’t listen to Mom. If I hadn’t spoken out of turn, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten rebellious again, or maybe if I hadn’t obliged in holdin’ her earrings for her.”

 

I thought of those diamonds as they had been, lying in the grass while Mom tried to force Sandra to breathe again and shook myself.

 

“She miscalculated the length of the dock. Hit her head on the end of it, she sank like a stone. I dropped the earrings of course and went in, we both nearly drowned. I still refuse to go swimming….either way, I cut my leg when down there, it was healed by the time we got the hospital. I dismissed it, but my Momma saw a cut heal, a few weeks later, and it was all over. She wanted an exorcism. If it didn’t work the she wanted to sign me off to a lab. When I left Sandra still hadn’t woken up. They tested her blood and apparently found that it was possible she could activate a mutation sometime in her life. So my parents ordered the plug pulled. They killed my baby sister, and if I had managed to keep my shit quiet then maybe they wouldn’t have tested for it.”

 

I was bitter by the end, and gripping my arms entirely too tight, nails digging harshly into the skin. Before I could sink any lower into my old self hatred and blame a heavy hand rested on the top of my head.

 

“You can’t blame yourself for other people’s stupidity, kid.”

 

It was all the comfort he had to offer, but I’d take what I could get. Eventually he spoke again, clearing his throat awkwardly,

 

“I’ll have you moved into my later class, focus a bit more on this new stuff, help you learn to keep track of it better. I recommend you get some of your favorite food and retrieve your book, maybe, I don’t know.”

 

I quirked a weak smile and stood, thumping to the ground quietly and looking up at him. 

 

“Jean won’t let me have any of my favorites yet.”

 

“Oh really?  _ That _ I might can do something about. Whatcha like, kid?”

  
“Bacon cheeseburgers. Though my absolute favorite things in existence are soda and blackberry pie.”

 

I thought fondly of the blackberry bush that used to grow near our house, Sandra and I would pick the berries, usually eating more than ended up in the washed out butter tub. The next day there was a soda in the fridge right in front of my row of juice bottles, my name sharpied on it in spiky, but surprisingly neat, handwriting. Beside it was a small tub of blackberries. Not exactly pie, but just as good. I enjoyed both that evening sitting on the porch, reading my book and thanking god that I had people like Marie and Logan, the fact that they existed making me feel a bit better. I sobered up when thinking that Sandra would have liked them, too. It was through that which I found my resolve. She’d likely punch me for moping about, and since I’d already missed her funeral I had to conclude that was the end of it. That didn’t mean that the nightmares stopped, though.

 

It was after a particularly rough one almost three months later that I woke up again, careful to catch my breath and calm my heartrate, Anna stirring restlessly but calming once my heartrate was normal. I breathed a sigh of relief at managing to not wake her, slipping out of bed and into the closet, pulling the door silently shut before turning the light on. In that particular dream Sandra had wings like Angel, a boy who visited occasionally but didn’t live at the school, and she accused me of being an agent of Lucifer. Of course it was Mark Pellegrino who stood beside me and assured her that was correct, that I was a favorite of his. It felt like a betrayal for Supernatural, one of my favorite shows, to sneak in and help fuel my nightmares. Either way I wasn’t going to be getting back to sleep tonight. It was just before midnight, and though it felt ridiculously early to be giving up on sleep I knew my mind well by this point, and I knew my nightmares.  _ That _ one would continue right where it left off, with Sandra chasing me with a knife and intent on ‘cleansing the demonic taint’ from me, should I try to sleep again. So instead I showered to wake up fully, pulling on some jeans and my new red converse, picking yet another black t shirt to go under my plaid one, this time red. I decided to button it this time, slotting my two Lucky’s into place in the right side breast pocket before as silently as possible gathering my iPod, headphones, and current book, exiting the room. 

 

There were few people awake by that point, some only just winding down for the night and heading to bed. I chose my usual seat in the sitting room near the kitchen on the first floor, swinging through the kitchen and finding that there were a few more soda’s with my name on them. I beamed at the little glass bottles, sitting proudly in front of Logan’s ‘secret’ beer stash. Honestly, the only person he was even trying to fool was Scott, and that was only because he tended to throw them out, insisting this was a school and that Logan should be a good role model. I wasn’t sure if my continuing stream of soda was only to hide his beer in plain sight or if he really had some sort of soft spot for the kid with similar abilities. Our level of ‘healing factor’ wasn’t exactly common, after all. 

 

Grabbing the soda, a grape one this time, I made my way to my seat, flopping down and turning a lamp on low. I needed to train my low light vision anyway, according to Logan. Might as well practice now. My mother’s voice bombarded me about straining my eyes and needing glasses, and my eyesight giving out in only a few short years, but I reminded myself that any damage that might be done would probably set itself straight soon anyway, and Logan was usually right about what I was capable of. I set my iPod on random but once again found that I didn’t like the selection it threw forwards. Finally I set my book down, searching and reading all of the titles before one struck a cord and I smiled, letting the heavy rock influences pound into my skull,

 

“ _ Bury me with my  _ **_guns_ ** _ on, so when I’m cast out of the  _ **_sky_ ** _ , _

_ I can shoot the devil right between the  _ **_eyes_ ** _.” _

 

All in all it meshed well with the dream I’d just had, and how freakin’ loud it was managed to drown out most of my thoughts and let me fall into an old favorite, a Harry Potter novel. That very thought-drowning quality of the music is what alerted me that something was happening. Because there was a rather loud noise that  _ didn’t _ belong to the song. I should know, I was a musician, I had every beat, every  _ note _ , of my favorites pounded into my mind. This particular sound very much didn’t belong. I pulled the headphones out, moving them so they draped over my neck and placed my iPod on top of my now closed book for easy carry. Padding down the hall searching for people and which idiot had most likely broken a rather expensive vase the notes continued to pound out of the headphones, only convincing me more that whatever had pierced through the sound  _ had _ to have been important. 

 

I heard a dull noise and then a scream, causing me to break into a run and slide around a corner. The sight that greeted me was  _ nothing _ like what I had been expecting. Armed forces look alikes, men that seemed to have jumped straight out of a game of Halo or something were wielding strange looking guns, the guy at the front holding a larger, more menacing version than the rest, and he was currently standing directly in front of little Kathy. Sierra had her arms around the little blue girl’s shoulders, attempting to draw her back and shield her from the man wielding the gun, dressed for all out war. The odd gun out raised, pointing in her direction as her cheeks puffed out, a sign of  _ fear _ , not attack, and my music dropped out of my hearing, the panic screeches, the begging, the crying, all of it faded, replaced with a high voice in my mind,

 

“ _ I’m six years old now! I can stay up just a liiiitle longer, right Nina?” _

 

The gun continued to travel and I felt a bit of my sanity slip, waving my hands so the other students saw me and motioning for them to run. They didn’t move, but the gun did, settling in focused on the little girl. What was left of my sanity exited the building and I screeched, leaping forwards, all those lessons with Logan coming to mind as I punched the closest guy in the ribs, tripping him and making for the man pointing a gun at a child. The students finally turned and ran as the soldier-men turned on me, the one gun firing as it’s wielder turned away from Kathy, and I felt the breath leave me, like I’d been punched in the chest. The kids disappeared down the hall, and I heard rather than saw, someone getting into a  _ lot _ of trouble because apparently they were supposed to only use sedatives instead of bullets. 

 

It didn’t matter much to me, I couldn’t breathe anymore and my vision was going. The pain was radiating out from my center, worse than anything I’d felt before. I hadn’t even noticed when I’d hit the ground, but I could see my iPod lying more or less under a table, the song still playing. I was annoyed, funnily enough, there was something red smeared across the stark blue cover of my book, one of the few that I actually owned. 

 

There was the sound of a zipper, a deep voice aggressively shouting very near me,

 

“It’s still good to us dead, bag it. We’ll look it over at Alkali.”

 

Alkali is a type of metal, isn’t it? Like ‘Alkali Earth metals’? My ‘give a shit’ meter was dropping rapidly, and I abandoned the thought, instead feeling the press of two cylinders against my chest, a few inches from where the pain was now spreading a numb feeling through my body. Guess I wasn’t lucky enough to ever get the chance to smoke them. I had the vague feeling that Logan would be disappointed in me as I felt my limbs being moved, my last few thoughts being of how my iPod would die, continually playing that music where it was under the table, and that I wasn’t quite sure if ‘death’ was something I could heal from.

 

“ _ The shot was quick and  _ **_painless_ ** _ , and it changed everything, _

_ It’s time to choose a better  _ **_king…_ ** _ ” _

 

Absently I hummed along to the music as I ran out of breath... _ liars...not painless at all… _

 

***

 

Darkness. The first thing I was aware of was that it was dark, and hot. From there it got even more complicated. I wasn’t sure where I was, how I’d gotten there, or why there was no fucking air. I was temporarily distracted by the curious feeling of my back being cold, with the cloth scraping my face reflecting my breath back at me, heating up. Panicking, I lashed out. For several seconds I struggled, kicking out and writhing. After a particularly vicious twist I felt something in my chest cramp, leaving me struggling for breath once more. I froze, trying to suck in oxygen as best as possible. In the cramped space I occupied I managed to bring my right hand up to poke at where the pain had surprised me. My fingers brushed against something wet and I wondered what the hell that could be before I touched two cylinders through the cloth of a shirt pocket. What?

 

Wiggling my fingers into the pocket I wrapped them around the mystery object, familiar surface tickling the back of my brain. Luck, something about luck...Logan. Oh,  _ shit _ . The nightmare, the students, the gun. I was in a body bag. I nearly panicked, the ick factor causing me to begin to hyperventilate. Fumbling around I managed to find the seam on the inside of the bag, feeling for the gap where I could work my fingers through and push the zipper down. 

 

The cold air hitting my face was a relief, as was the fact that I was on an autopsy table, rather than in the fridge. I stumbled as I landed on the ground, legs not working properly for a few seconds. By the time I stopped looking like newborn Bambi there were footsteps coming from  _ somewhere _ , and I dove for beside a row of cabinets, hidden from view through the door in the corner...hopefully. My breath was harsh as I waited to see where the people were going, letting out a sigh of relief when they passed the morgue altogether. Finally having a bit of time to take stock of everything I looked down at my chest first. My shirt was ruined, blood matting the area around the bullet hole, which was slightly burned at the edges. The same was for the undershirt as well, and I scowled down at it, annoyed. Unbuttoning the flannel shirt I purposefully buttoned it lopsided so that my unblemished skin couldn’t be seen through both bullet holes. Guess that answers if a bullet to the heart would kill me. 

 

It still ached a bit, with the itching still present as well. I probably shouldn’t be walking around, but these people had broken into the school, pointed guns at the students,  _ shot me _ , now was not the time to relax. Especially since they didn’t know I was on the loose. I took stock of the room I was in, several autopsy tables set up, but no body bags were on them. I didn’t want to know if any of my classmates were in the freezer. The machines stationed around the room were similar to what I’d seen in the basement lab at the school. Research capable...well, I’d hate to be of any use to them, alive or not. Rooting through the cabinets I found a large container of name brand bleach, walking over to the body bag I’d clawed my way out of and dumping it over the blood stains, effectively tainting anything they might have had from it. The flood of the chemical washed something into view and I set the bleach down, carefully picking up the object, raising an eyebrow at it. A bullet. 

 

Well, it was good to know that I’d pushed it out or something instead of just healing around it, that probably would have had hella complications attached to it. Another noise outside the door had me moving quickly again. I wiped the bullet off with the end of my shirt, sticking it into my shirt pocket and screwing the cap back on the bleach, replacing it after wiping it down with the bottom of my shirt as well. Once more no one entered the room, leaving me to crack open the door and try to get a look around. First I had to figure out if they’d caught anyone, they mentioned that they wanted people alive. After that I could find out where we were and how to get the hell away from this place. The hallway was dark, with small lights set into the floor every few feet and dimmer lights set into the ceiling, fluorescents humming obnoxiously. I couldn’t be sure if they were actually loud or if the situation was heightening my senses any. 

 

As I made my way down the hall I was terrified someone would see me, that someone would realise what I could do and strap me to a table instead of trying to kill me. I almost laughed at the thought, I was afraid they’d  _ stop _ trying to kill me. The hallways were quite active, and I found myself hiding in unlocked side rooms often, sometime for no reason at all except I got spooked. After what seemed like an extremely close save I sat in the dark in a supply closet, sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around my legs and rocking myself back and forth. I wasn’t prepared for this, what the hell was I doing? I wasn’t one of the x-men, I was just a student. A freak, but just a student all the same. 

 

When I finally caught my breath and got my shit more or less together I left the closet again. I continued searching the place, finally finding something of interest. Cages. Human sized cages, all back to back and separated by some kind fencing. These were empty, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the blood that pooled every which way on the floor. Someone had gone through and just started wasting people, it looked like. I felt sick, only barely managing to keep my lunch down. It wasn’t a pretty sight and I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been anyone I knew. As much as I hated it there wasn’t anything I could do here. So I kept looking, heading through the maze of cages and ducking behind pillars at the slightest sound. 

 

When I ran bodily into someone I flinched back, hands brought up at the ready position Logan had taught us all, ready to fight tooth and nail so I didn’t have to live the rest of my life on a lab table, or in one of those fucking cages. But I dropped them almost immediately, blinking in surprise.

 

“Ororo?”

  
She was decked out in her full ‘x-men’ field gear, with a tailed blue man standing beside her and a group of kids behind. She pulled me into a tight hug before pulling away and looking me over critically, frowning at the blood on my shirt.

 

“You’re explaining how the hell you ended up here once we get out. Now, which way did you come from? Was there an exit in that direction?”

 

I shook my head, thinking back at what I’d seen.

 

“No, I don’t think so, but I was going steadily up, it’s further underground in that direction.”

 

I pointed vaguely behind me before motioning over to the hallways at our right, 

 

“Based on how the place slopes upward I would think the exit might be over there or something. Where are we?”

  
“Beneath Alkali Lake, come on.”

 

Oh, Alkali. I remembered them saying that. I rushed to catch up to Ororo, flashing a strained smile at her blue friend as she pointed to him,

 

“This is Kurt, Kurt this is Nina.”

 

He nodded, 

 

“Pleasure to meet you.”

 

His accent was thick and difficult to place so I didn’t bother trying at that particularly stressed moment in time, instead jerking to a halt when Ororo stopped, head tilted. Finally she turned to me, motioning,

 

“The exit is that way, I feel the air flow, take the kids, the jet should be there to pick you up. Kurt and I have to get the Professor.”

 

They got the Professor?! Jesus, who the fuck  _ were _ these people? And why the hell was Ororo putting  _ me _ in charge? A quick glance at them revealed I was the least injured, ironically enough. I grabbed onto the arms of one who was stumbling, pulling them in the direction Ororo had indicated, content to stay the hell out of whatever bullshit Ororo and Kurt were going to be apart of in a moment. Get the kids and escape, that I could get behind. We came across a door that was slightly ajar, I pushed it open, only for it to bounce off the back of one of two familiarly dressed soldier men. I panicked, I’ll admit. I grabbed the handle of the door and swung again with all my might, this time knocking him forwards. The kids were directly behind me, and we were bottlenecked, there’d be no escape that way. Instead I leapt forwards, swinging my left foot as hard as I could at his knee, flinching when a sickening crack filled the air. 

 

He  _ screamed _ and I wanted to cry, pass out, and throw up all at once, but was stopped when the other soldier guy swung his gun to face me. Blindly I swept a hand towards him, mind flashing back to Logan pairing us against one another, one with a stick instead of a firearm. It didn’t work quite the same way. There was more fumbling involved, and when I grabbed his forearm in a panic there was  _ give _ , and he was hissing, trying to pull away. I knew if I let him go he’d pull the gun up and just start spraying bullets. So I pulled him a step closer, kicking out at the same time, feeling something give way under my foot and he was choking. When he hit the ground he twisted, the gun waving wildly. Once again I heard a gunshot and felt a piercing pain, this time further down in my chest. 

 

I hissed, doubling over from the pain and kicking out for his helmet, hearing a crack. He didn’t move. I made an attempt to control my breathing before sitting up, the healing factor not kicking in yet. I was seeing spots but forced myself to stand up straight, worried that more of those men were around. I tried not to think about how those were people under the helmets, and men behind the guns. 

 

Speaking of guns, I heard gunfire behind us, throwing the door open wider and motioning the kids outside with a bit of difficulty. After a split second of hesitation I decided. As much as I had now idea what I was doing with this gun it was pure luck and the element of surprise that let me get along without one. Well, that and a bit of mutant speed and strength. So I scooped up the weapon gingerly, holding it carefully, mind going back to what my dad had taught me when we were younger and would go hunting. It was different from the rifles we’d used then. Heavier, more complicated. I knew it was just my imagination but it felt darker, probably because I knew that these were meant to harm people rather than deer. 

 

Still, I knew the theory. After checking how many bullets were left, the answer: most of them, I looked to the kids gathered around me. Some were my age, a few were familiar, I’d seen them around the school. A handful I didn’t know. Some were older than me, most of them were the same age or younger. All were looking at me, but not in disgust as I’d assumed. I’d just hurt, probably  _ killed _ two people, and here they were looking for guidance. Now I had some idea of how Cas felt in Supernatural all the freakin’ time. 

 

I shook it off, motioning in the direction of the noise, hoping it was the jet, yelling to be heard,

 

“Come on, ‘s prolly our ride!”

 

They followed, staying silent as I slung the strap for the gun across my chest, careful of the new wound, though I heard some suck in air when my shirt came unbuttoned, revealing the bloody mess on the inside actually extended upwards as well. They probably hadn’t realized I’d been hit at all. I ignored them, keeping the gun ready to be brought up to the ready, thanking god that I was from the south. If it had been some senators kid from a preppy school then I’d have no idea what to do with this beyond pulling the trigger makes a loud noise. True, I was out of practice, but it was better than nothing. 

 

I was stumbling by the time the jet was in view, motioning the kids towards it even as the ramp dropped down to let them on. Hearing people in the distance I turned, seeing Ororo and the blue guy, Kurt maybe, as well as the Professor. I stepped aside to let them bring the Professor on board, removing the gun strap from me and following them, seeing Logan in one of the seats, eyes closed as he tried to breathe. For one stupid moment I thought he was hurt. There  _ was _ blood on his uniform, though I doubted it was his, and even if it was he would be fine by now. 

 

Marie, no, she was Rogue right now, was helping Ororo strap kids into seats, with Jean fiddling with the controls. I collapsed into a seat beside Logan, taking the bullets out of the gun and setting both laboriously on the floor, sitting back in the seat and trying to draw in air. My side was on fire, and the pain in my chest was back. Recovering from a mortal wound already meant the other injury wasn’t exactly getting priority, I was assuming. It seemed as if my energy was now split between the two and neither were knitting together at the rate they needed to. Good news was the pain was in my back as well, so at least the bullet had exited and wasn’t still in there somewhere. I felt a hand on my shoulder and opened my eyes, unsure when I’d closed them. 

 

Ororo was meeting my eyes, looking concerned,

 

“You alright?”

 

The jet shuddered as I nodded, moving the hand that had traveled to press down on my newest bullet hole.

 

“Just dandy. Remind me to stop getting shot. I don’t like it.”

 

A low laugh from right next to me signaled Logan was listening. I glanced over to see his eyes half open, looking at me.

 

“Kids said you died.”

 

“Yeah, well, I got better.”

 

Ororo strapped me in, trying to be gentle. She winced when I did, finally stepping back.

 

“We’ll get you looked at when we get back, for now I need to see why we aren’t already gone.”

 

I think I lost consciousness for a little while, because I heard something about Jean, and when I opened my eyes there was shouting. I’d just meant to blink but the next time my eyes opened there was silence and someone was shaking me. We were in the air, a deep voice in my ear growling,

 

“Stay awake kid, we’re almost there.”

 

His voice was rougher than usual, and I knew something was wrong. I tried to look around, the kids looked like Christmas had been cancelled. None of them would meet my eyes. I wondered who had died. I found out when we got off the jet at the manor, Logan helping me limp through the house and to the lab in the basement. I saw everyone get off the jet, and it lose power and go silent. Jean wasn’t with us. The words nearly escaped before I stopped them, but I bit my tongue, hard. Pain was no excuse to be inconsiderate. But tears still found their way into my eyes. Jean...She had been on the jet, I’d seen her there.

 

No one explained it to me until I found Marie a few hours later. I’d taken some iron pills, and been bandaged up so that I wouldn’t bleed everywhere in the time it took my body to learn to balance out healing two major injuries at a time. She explained it to me through her own tears that the jet was damaged, that Jean had sacrificed herself to get us in the air and keep the water away as the damn broke. We sat together in silence for a long while. Eventually she left the room and I was alone. I wandered outside, trying to clear my head. No one was around and my entire body ached just a little bit. 

 

So little time and so much had gone wrong. True I hadn’t even been involved with most of it apparently, but there had been enough that I wished I was more competent, that I hadn’t been shot, that I’d been more help than just leading some kids somewhere they could have found on their own and commandeering a weapon that was useless in the end anyway. A pain lanced through my chest and I pressed a hand to it, breathing in carefully. I felt something strange under my fingers and looked down. My pocket. I pulled one of the Lucky’s out, looking it over. I’d made it out alive. Well, I was alive by the end of it at least. I stared down at it for a few seconds, not hearing anyone approach until Logan was right beside me, deep voice startling me as it appeared from nowhere out of the darkness.

 

“I just spoke with Boy Scout. You’re lucky he didn’t see you out here.”

 

I shrugged with my the shoulder that hurt the least, still wincing. When I didn’t speak he sighed,

 

“Need a light?”

I considered it for a second before nodding. Yeah, I did. I’d survived the day of ‘battle’ after all. Time to celebrate the fact that I was still (or rather  _ back _ ) alive, and remember those who didn’t make it out. I was left coughing for several seconds and Logan patted me roughly on the back, I could have sworn he chuckled a bit, too. The taste was awful but my nerves eased and the pain dulled. I could see why people got addicted, even knowing the havoc it wreaked on their bodies. We sat there in silence until the cigarettes were gone and I was taught how to stub it out properly. Eventually I turned to go, pausing and clearing my throat. There were so many things I wanted to say, that I wished I had the words for. Things along the lines of ‘She was your friend first, sorry for your loss’, but everything that crossed my mind sounded utterly atrocious. So instead I settled with,

 

“Goodnight.”

 

Even that felt stupid so I left as quickly as possible, making my way through the trashed hallways of the manor. As tired as I was I made sure to change into clothes that weren't blood soaked before falling into bed, carefully, wary of the still healing holes in my chest. As I lay awake for a few minutes I couldn’t help but think about how this was one more time that someone had died and I’d come out just fine because of my freakishness. For a second I entertained the thought that I had bad luck with redheads but tossed it out, anyone close to me was going to be in danger. Being a mutant in this world, where we were hated by everyone, even ourselves...there was no safe place, not even the school. 

 

But then I heard laughter down the hall, the kids being returned to their rooms, coming down from the high of hiding until the situation blew over. Kathy’s high voice sounded outside my room and I heard the door click open. I couldn’t help but smile through the pain as I was hit by what felt like a small blue torpedo. I held her close as she cried and snotted everywhere, making room for her and Anna both. Anna had apparently also been there in that hallway to see me go down. The bed was cramped but I dealt with it, feeling warm and not alone for once. Perhaps there was no safe place for us, but as cheesy as it sounded, at least we were together. United we stand, and all that jazz...

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a bit short, in my opinion, and what most people would see as the 'interesting bits' are a bit short, because it's a bit more honest when it comes to interaction with the pre-set plot.  
> for the love of whatever deity you people may or may not believe in, leave a comment.


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